


Tell me Where it Hurts

by Gia279



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Blood, Cursed!Derek, Curses, Learning Magic, M/M, Magic!Stiles, Slow build Sterek, Witch!Stiles, Witches, Wolf!Derek, actual wolves, gore in later chapters, injured!Sheriff, just injured promise, lots of blood, magick, spells
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-16 08:51:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 45,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5822248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gia279/pseuds/Gia279
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles learns to do magick and Derek is cursed to walk the woods on four legs and keep his silence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! So I considered adding this and Nature of the Beast to a series of works and titling it Magic!Stiles Magical Styles but I thought people would think it was a sequel to NotB so I didn't want to get anyone excited. This is just my way of playing with different types of magic usage that I get ideas for.
> 
> ** I have ten chapters written ahead of what I've posted, so updates will be fairly regular; Mondays and Fridays if I can resist posting all day Wednesday and Thursday.

Officer Lucie Castille had the resting face of a cop—hard, observant, no-nonsense. But when spoken to, it became clear very quickly that that wasn’t her base personality. 

“Hi! You must be Stiles Stilinski! I’m Officer Castille, we spoke on the phone. Call me Lucie,” she added, holding her hand out and practically bubbling with energy. “Welcome to River’s End.” She started pointing to buildings set on either side of the main road. “Grocery store, diner, hardware store—that’s hardware, mechanic, and gas station, actually,” she laughed. “There’s the library across the street, the doc and the vet on either side of it, the flower shop is wedged over there.” She bounced on her toes as she tapped the side of her truck. “I went ahead and picked up some essentials for you.” 

Stiles stared at her, slowly processing what she said. “You didn’t have to,” he mumbled at last. “I could have-”

“No problem! Consider it a gift from the town.” She looked at his jeep and smiled. “Well, let’s get moving. It’s only about five miles out. Not too bad.”

Stiles nodded and shuffled back to his jeep.

Officer Castille was right—the drive was about twenty-five minutes on the rough dirt road through the woods. 

The house they came to was exactly as described, brick and mortar, two floors, secluded in a man-made clearing. 

Officer Castille jumped out of her truck and grabbed a box from the bed. “I can help you get it all moved in.” 

“It’s no problem. I can do it.” 

She clicked her tongue. “Nonsense. Got two perfectly capable arms and legs here. We’ll get you all set up, then I’ll be out of your hair.” She hitched the box up on her hip and stamped up the porch steps. She unlocked the door with a key ring that had only three keys on it, and went right in.

Stiles blinked after her, then sighed and started grabbing his hastily packed belongings. 

The inside of the house was furnished—as promised—so Stiles dropped his duffle bag on the worn gray sofa, his backpack full of clothes dropping beside it. 

“Okay, so—if the power goes out, and it will, there are candles and lighters all over the house. Big flashlight in the kitchen, spare batteries in every drawer.” She came out of the kitchen at a bounce, her face bright and lively.

She made Stiles tired. “Thank you.”

“No problem. Use the fire place—we talked about that on the phone. There’s bread and turkey in the fridge, some crackers and broth and –” she waved her hand. “You’ll see. The landline works but you’ll be hard-pressed to get cell service out here.” She flounced past and out the door, presumably to get more boxes.

Stiles looked around the living room. All personal touches had been stripped, though he knew he was renting from Officer Castille herself. He wondered if she’d bought it just for renting out, but couldn’t work up the energy to ask. 

He shuffled back outside to get the rest of his stuff, lurching out of the way when Officer Castille almost knocked him over with a box. 

“Oops, sorry! Extra linens and a heated blanket—it’s gonna get cold,” she babbled. “Anything you need, you just call, we can get it to you if you can’t get to us.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled.

“Not much of a talker,” she observed, passing him.

That was wrong. Stiles hadn’t ever had anyone say that to him. But it was a fair assessment at the moment. 

“That’s fine. Okay, what else? I know I forgot something,” she mused, bouncing on her toes. “Keys! Front and back door, and the basement.” She held the keys out—they were color coded with what looked like nail polish. She finally seemed to really look at his face, and her hand slowly lowered. “Are you okay?”

He blinked, forced his stiff facial muscles to relax. “Yeah. I’m good. Just adjusting. It was a long drive.”

She didn’t look convinced. “My family and I used to live here,” she announced, and Stiles flinched. “My siblings…they moved away. My parents, well.” She shrugged, cleared her throat. “You look sick. Or sad. Or both. If you have…if you have plans for…” She looked away. “Come with me right now if you do. If you don’t, if—if you’re okay, I’ll go.”

 _Plans for what?_ he thought numbly. It took a moment for his brain to connect her tight expression and her words. “I’m not suicidal, Officer. I just-” he took in a hitching breath. “I just needed to get away for a while.” Away from the sympathy, the well-wishes, the whole damn county.

“Well—okay.” She looked anxious. “Just—just call…for help. If you feel like—you know?” She leaned forward then, startling him by wrapping him in a firm hug.

He stood there for a moment, let her get whatever it was out of her system, and awkwardly pulled back. 

“Well, uh, thanks,” he said.

“You’re welcome.” She gave him a hard, searching look—cop look—before returning to her truck. “Take care, have fun, give us a call.” She waved and hopped in.

Stiles shook his head and closed the door. He had a couple boxes, a few more bags, in his car, but his energy had drained, left him with a headache and gritty eyes. 

He shoved his bags to the floor and flopped face first onto the sofa. 

X X X

It was dark when he woke up, confusing him. He flapped his hand out, reaching for the lamp on his nightstand. When he stretched his legs, he felt the arm of the sofa and remembered. 

He was in River’s End, Oregon. His father was-

Stiles jerked to his feet, tripping over his duffle bag and onto his backpack. Swearing, he fumbled around until he found a lamp, then felt it up for about three minutes until he realized the switch was on the cord.

The room lit with a warm, dim glow. Stiles scrubbed his hands over his face. 

Then he bent and opened his backpack to drag out a bigger hoodie to pull on over the one he was already wearing. The house had gotten cold while he slept. November up in the mountains promised to be frigid, which he knew but he’d still left his recently-purchased winter jacket in the jeep. 

He had to brace himself to go outside, but didn’t make it far. The whip of cold air had him retreating immediately. 

“Okay. Okay, let’s get a fire started, first.” He looked at the neat piles of firewood beside the fire place. He could get it going—in theory. He’d certainly lit fires before, just not in a fireplace and, in most cases, not on purpose.

He had a vague memory of speaking to Officer Castille on the phone, her assuring him she’d had the chimney swept and opened the damper, whatever that meant. 

He prodded one of the logs with the toe of his shoe, grimacing. There were a couple StarterLoggs in the pile.

Through trial and error, Stiles had a fire going within an hour. He’d found a basket with tinder in it behind the logs and decided Officer Castille had obviously sensed his ineptitude. 

He pulled his cell phone out to check the time and grimaced. He had seven text messages from Scott and Melissa.

Wearily, he opened them. His phone beeped a No Service warning.

 **Scott:** _Hey, did you make it?_ 3:17 pm  
**Scott:** _R U okay?_ 3:30 pm  
**Scott:** _Stiles this isn’t funny plz answer_ 4:29 pm  
**Scott:** _OMG would you just answer?_ 4:32 pm  
**Scott:** _Or at least open these so I know ur alive????_ 4:33 pm  
**Scott:** _STILES I AM SO MAD AT YOU! I LOVE YOU DON’T BE DEAD!_ 4:50 pm

 **Melissa:** _Stiles, please call when you’re settled. Drive safe. Love you._ 5:00 pm

Stiles sighed and got up, taking his phone to the kitchen.

The cordless phone sat on the counter next to a Keurig, clearly the newest thing in the kitchen. 

Carefully, he dialed Scott’s cell number, listening to it ring. 

“Hello?” Scott’s voice was tight, like he was expecting bad news.

“Hey.”

Scott gasped. “Stiles. Where are you calling from? Where’s your phone? Why didn’t you text us?”

“I-” His throat was tight and dry. “It doesn’t get signal up here,” he managed. 

“Oh.” Scott remained quiet, waiting for Stiles to answer his other questions. 

“I’m calling from the house. It has a landline.”

“So you made it.”

“Yeah. I was—you know. Kind of tired when I got here, so I took a nap.”

Scott stayed quiet for a moment. “That’s good. You rested. What, um, what else did you do?” 

Stiles swallowed with a click and sat at the scarred kitchen table, telling Scott about his adventure with the fireplace.

He made Scott laugh, which made him smile. It was good. That was good. 

“So—you wanna talk to Mom?” Scott asked hesitantly. “She was worried.” 

“Sure.” Stiles tried not to get tense. There was no reason to get stressed. 

“Hello, Stiles,” Melissa said warmly. “I expect you’re about to eat dinner, so I won’t keep you long.”

“I expect that that was your roundabout way of telling me to eat something,” he teased.

Her laugh sounded more relieved than amused. “Maybe. So—what’s it like? Quiet? Any hot but questionable lumberjacks lurking around?”

Stiles laughed out loud that time. “No, no lumberjacks. Actually, I think I’m pretty isolated. Five miles to the grocery store.” 

Melissa hummed. “That makes me nervous.” She added quickly, “Well, you’ll be okay. Call us tomorrow, same time. Love you, kid.” She hung up before he could respond.

He set the phone down. He knew why she’d gotten off the phone so quickly.

Their smothering concern and sympathy had sent him fleeing to the mountains and she knew it.

He appreciated her effort to ease back.

With a sigh, he got up to search the kitchen. 

There were basic spices as well as just-add-water brownie mix in one cabinet, plates and bowls in another. Canned foods took up most of the space in the big cabinets beside the fridge. The backdoor was two feet from the fridge, a big Dutch door with a latch on the top half.

Stiles made himself a sandwich and ate half of it before his appetite fled. 

He kicked his shoes off and dug through his duffle bag until he found thick socks to pull on and some sweats. He curled up on the couch and stared at the fire until he drifted off.


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles roused himself at seven am and got to work. He dragged his boxes and bags inside and, after some thought, up to the second floor.

There were two bedrooms up there, the master room and a guest or kid’s room.

Stiles took the master room, lugging crap in. He wasn’t entirely sure what he’d packed, so he was only guessing which bags went where. 

He checked one box that was oddly heavy and discovered-

“Bricks? What the shit.” He held the two bricks and absolutely could not fathom why he’d packed them or even where he’d gotten them. The rest of the box was filled with a single shoe, a couple books, and a fish tank with a bag of potting soil in it—another unfathomable mystery. 

It must have been a bad day when he packed the box. 

Still too baffled to deal with it, he shoved the caged soil and bricks back into the box, and scooted it into the guest room.

Once he’d put his clothes in the closet, Stiles looked around the room. It was nice. A king sized bed made up with brown sheets, teal pillows, and a brown-and-teal comforter. A big dresser of gleaming oak stood in the corner, the top decorated with antique perfume bottles, the topmost drawer open a scant inch like an invitation.

The window faced the back of the house, which was basically just trees. 

Stiles scrubbed at his face and pulled his pillow and blanket out of his bag, setting them on the bed. It looked inviting.

He left the room quickly.

Wallowing in bed wasn’t going to get his things unpacked.

It took the rest of the day to get everything arranged how he wanted it, which was fine. He was shaky and weak by six, and realized he hadn’t eaten—realized he wanted to eat.

He made another sandwich, this time with more care, and stepped out the back door to eat it.

There wasn’t much of a backyard—an expanse of dirt and sparse, winter grass, pushed up against thick trees and brush. 

The back deck was nice, spacious with a bench swing and a little table. 

Stiles sat in the swing and finished his sandwich, rocking gently.

It was chilly out, since the sun went down, but he was enjoying the swing, the quiet air. 

He didn’t realize he’d fallen asleep until the phone rang, startling him awake. 

He was shivering hard, little convulsions that knocked his teeth together. His feet felt warm, which was probably a bad sign.

He got up and stumbled inside, answering the phone with a grunt.

“Stiles? You okay?” Scott’s voice was loud.

“Y-yes,” he chattered. “I w-was outs-side, sorry.” 

“Jeeze. Well, get warmed up while I’m on the phone.” Someone on his side of the line muttered something, and Scott said, “No,” very firmly. 

“Who—who-?” 

“Just Allison and Chris. They said hi,” Scott said easily.

Stiles never thought he’d refer to Allison as “Just Allison”. “What’s going on?”

“Mom invited them to dinner. They were just leaving. What’d you do today?” he asked brightly. 

So Stiles told him about unpacking, and the bricks and soil, about the antique perfume bottles and the back porch swing.

“If you don’t have internet or TV, what’re you gonna _do_ all day?” Scot wondered.

Stiles muttered, “I’m sure I’ll find something.

Scott hesitated, then asked, “When are you coming home?” in a quiet, tense voice. 

“I don’t—I—” Stiles cleared his throat. “Not sure.” 

There was a muffled scraping noise, followed by Melissa’s warm, soothing voice in his ear, telling him about her day in detail so that he felt comfortably drowsy by the time she bade him goodnight. 

Stiles bundled up and went out back again, stepping off the porch. Movement to his left had him jumping back, almost tripping up the stairs. 

Intense blue eyes stared at him from the trees, from a furry black face. 

Stiles bolted inside and called Officer Castille. 

“There’s a wolf—or a dog?—There’s something big outside,” he babbled. 

“Oh!” Her voice trembled with amusement. “Oh, just ignore him. He’s harmless. Just a little curious, you know.”

“It was huge! Are you sure it’s not going to eat me?”

Officer Castille giggled. “I’m sure. He won’t bother you. Hey, why don’t you come into town tomorrow, get a library card? That way I can show you where to get everything you need. There’s supposed to be some snow.” 

Stiles, still thinking about the wolf, mumbled an agreement and got off the phone.

X

He met Officer Castille at the library. They’d already printed a library card for him—“We do know where you live, hon,” the librarian had teased—so basically he was there to ease Officer Castille’s mind, he guessed.

“Okay, aside from the fireplace, you’ll freeze. I got a space heater on hold in hardware if you want it.” 

“Uh, sure,” he said.

She smiled widely. “Great! And are you gonna pick up some groceries? Might as well stock up while you’re out,” she said cheerfully.

Numbly, Stiles allowed Officer Castille to drag him around River’s End.

She was sort of like a sweeter version of Lydia Martin. Just as unstoppable, slightly different tactics.

Stiles ended up returning home with a stack of DVDs and books from the library, groceries to last him a week or two, and sturdy boots, along with the space heater.

The boots, Officer Castille had advised him, should be worn in a bit, but they’d keep his feet warm enough. 

River’s End was small enough that everyone knew everyone else by name, and, because they knew each other so well, any outsider seemed strange. 

Plenty of people had simply stared when Officer Castille led him past them.

A teenager at the library—probably about sixteen—had helped him find the DVDs with a determined expression. Her mother had looked on with nervous disapproval. 

Officer Castille had claimed that Alice—the girl—was making a point to the others.

Stiles just nodded. What could he say? That he didn’t _plan_ to make friends, didn’t care what the people of River’s End thought of him? That wouldn’t convince Officer Castille that he was mentally stable enough to live on his own. 

After showing him, the girl had smiled shyly and ran back to her friends and mother.

Stiles fumbled with a can of diced tomatoes, which was all they’d had at the store. He set it on the counter and turned back to his other groceries.

He’d grabbed some varying flavors of K-Cups, apparently. He frowned at the box, shook it gently. 

With a sigh, he reached to put it above the sink. He looked out the window behind the sink and found himself just staring. The woods looked so peaceful, so inviting.

The urge to wander made his fingers tap against the counter. To get lost in the trees.

He turned away abruptly and returned to putting his groceries away. 

He decided to keep himself busy by making a pot of chili. 

The eye on the stove smoked a little when he turned it on, so he opened the backdoor quickly, lest the smoke detector go off and get the fire department swarming. 

He went back to the meat, seasoning it carefully.

Once the chili was bubbling, he stepped toward the back door—and froze.

The wolf from before stood on the deck, ears tipped forward, braced near the steps.

A strangled sound of fear came from Stiles’s throat, one hand flapping for the door. 

The wolf stared back, just as stiff as Stiles. 

He finally found the door and slammed it shut, latching the bolt. He peered out the window, just in time to see the wolf’s tail as he fled into the trees.

Stiles vowed to demand to know everything about the wolf from Officer Castille, starting with why she thought he was harmless. 

There was an old TV in the living room with a DVD player balanced on top of it, so Stiles set up one of the movies he’d rented from the library, and settled in to eat and veg.

Melissa and Scott called at five on the dot. Melissa was just leaving to work and wanted to say hi.

Scott told him about his day, leaving out his trip to the hospital, though Stiles knew he’d gone.

In return, Stiles filled him in on his own day, venturing into town and seeing other humans.

Scott seemed pleased about this. He was not pleased to hear about the wolf.

“ _What?_ What if it attacks you?” 

“Officer Castille seems to think it’s harmless.” 

“It went up on the porch!”

“It didn’t come inside, and the door was wide open.” Stiles paused as he was scooping left over chili into a container. “Maybe it smelled the chili I was making.”

While Scott doubtfully told Stiles about things wolves ate, Stiles finished sealing up the chili and putting it in the fridge.

“Man, it’s weird not being able to text you,” Scott said mournfully. 

Stiles squirted dish soap into the pot and began filling it with hot water.

“You’ll be okay. Just text Allison.”

“I’ll pass,” Scott muttered. 

Stiles fumbled the sponge. “What? Why?”

Scott cleared his throat. “Nothing. You’re right. There are plenty of people I can text. Are you gonna explore the basement?”

Stiles frowned. “Maybe. Why?”

“Oh, last night you mentioned it, so I thought…”

“Right. I’ll do that tomorrow. I’ve got some books that I want to read tonight.”

“Oh, that’s a good idea.”

They talked for a little longer before Stiles accidentally dropped the freshly scrubbed pot on his foot and said goodbye while cursing. 

He sat on the sofa, nursing his bruised foot and regretting his choice of movie for the night.

He picked a book off his pile and settled in to read, leaving the movie going for background noise.

He got absorbed, let the real world fall away. The sun was rising by the time he set the book down and managed to shuffle up the stairs and to bed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is technically Monday, so I am posting now. I'm getting to exciting parts in the written version so I'm too anxious to wait. :D Enjoy, let me know what you think. ^^
> 
> Ooh magick in this chapter

The basement was dusty and surprisingly well-lit. Stiles had been expecting something from a horror movie and had brought the cordless phone down with him.

There were some boxes and things on shelves, but Stiles figured if Officer Castille didn’t want him looking, she wouldn’t have given him a key. 

He poked into one of the boxes, rearing back when he found it full of tiny clothes. He shoved the cordless into his back pocket and skirted around the boxes to get a closer look at the shelves.

There were jars and vials of varying shapes and sizes covering the shelves, filled with liquids.

He picked one up, his nose twitching as dust kicked up. The liquid inside was thick and blue, sloshing against the sides. He set it back down, reaching for the short red one beside it.

Before he could grab it, a sneezing fit started, so violent that he nearly lost his balance, grabbing at the shelf to hold himself up.

A bottle toppled off and shattered at his feet.

He looked down, eyes watering, to see roiling gray fog around his ankles. He couldn’t move away from it, his heart was pounding, he—

—woke with a jerk, finding himself at the kitchen table, one hand clutched around the cordless phone. 

He snorted, rubbing the back of his hand over his nose.

It was dark outside. He blinked confusedly between the phone and the window.

He looked at his shoes, saw a greenish stain on the toe of the left one, and a shard of glass glinting in the other. 

With some trepidation, he got up and went to the basement door, which was still open. That explained the biting chill, anyway. 

He kept his grip on the phone as he crept down the basement steps.

There was no shattered glass on the ground, no evidence that he’d dropped anything.

The only thing that appeared changed was a box, sitting atop the box of children’s clothes.

A peek inside showed it was full of old books and bowls and empty glass vials.

When the phone rang, he jumped and yelped. Embarrassed, he answered with a gruff, “Hello?”

“Hey. Are you alright?” Scott asked. “You didn’t answer earlier.”

“Yeah. I –was in the basement. Hey, lemme call you back. I should call Officer Castille to let her know she left some stuff.”

“Oh. Well, okay. Call me back, okay?”

“I will. Thanks,” he mumbled. He took his cell phone out—now a glorified phone book and camera—and pulled her number up.

“Hey, Stiles,” Officer Castille said warmly. “How are you doing?”

“Um, fine. So.” He cleared his throat. “I, uh, went into the basement today.” 

“Okay…?” She sounded caught between confusion and amusement. 

“There were some jars on the shelves—I think I broke one, I’m sorry. And there’s a box filled with books and…stuff…in it.” 

She hummed. “Sounds interesting. The bottles were just some of, um, my mom’s old decorations.” She coughed a little. “So, it’s no big deal. But go ahead and poke through the books and _stuff_.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yep! Maybe you’ll learn something,” she teased, and hung up.

Stiles frowned, then called Scott back, wedging the phone between his cheek and his shoulder so he could carry the box upstairs. 

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah. She said I was free to snoop through this box of stuff.” 

Scott’s laugh was loud and surprised. “She must know you better than you thought, then.”

Stiles snorted and deposited the box on the table. The top book was a battered composition notebook. The cover said “ _Nadia & Andre Castille Book of Shadows_” written in curly handwriting. 

He hesitated— _Book of Shadows_ sounded ominous—but he flipped it open eventually. 

“What’re you doing?” Scott asked.

“Snooping,” he muttered, stopping at what looked like a recipe.

_Willow bark—3 strips (focus)_  
Essence of rose, 3 oz (tranquility)  
Elm leaves—6, finely ground (willpower)  
Swan feather—1 (strength)  
With spring water. Focus fragrance. Good for concentration. 

Stiles frowned at the page. “Huh.”

“What?”

“Uh, just this journal I found. It has some sort of recipe in it,” he mumbled.

“Cool! Why don’t you try it?” Scott suggested brightly.

“Uh…I mean, I might. I just have to find the ingredients.” Stiles set the notebook aside and reached into the box. 

He found jars of leaves, twigs, bark, oils, a pestle and mortar. 

“Cool, that’s so cool. Maybe they’re old family recipes and you can totally learn to be like this super _awesome_ chef, and–”

Stiles laughed. “Whoa, Scotty. My cooking is okay at best and I have no desire to be a chef.” Besides that, the recipes he’d glimpsed were clearly not for consumption.

“Well…okay.” Scott hesitated, then said, “He’s getting the stitches out of his face tomorrow,” quickly, like he thought Stiles might hang up.

He couldn’t. He was stock-still, afraid that moving would break him.

“Stiles?” Scott swallowed loudly. “I’m sorry, man, I just—just thought you should know.” 

Stiles rasped, “I have to go.”

“What?”

“Bye.” He hung up and slammed the phone into its cradle, peering into the box again. He didn’t move until his vision stopped wavering.

There was a knife at the bottom of the box, along with assorted other things, including at least four more books. He lifted the knife first. It was clean and ornate, one edge dull, the other very sharp. 

The book covers didn’t have anything on them, and inside they weren’t in English. He frowned, but couldn’t identify the language. That wasn’t saying much. He could identify maybe three on sight. 

The front cover had a handwritten note in it.

_Speak the words and read the book, be careful to return what you took!_

He snorted, but he dutifully read the inscription: “Teach me please, I wish to learn the language of the trees.” He snorted again and flipped to the first page. 

1\. _**Casting a circle**  
In order to safely perform magick without a tutor, you are advised to cast a circle to keep your power contained so as to minimize damage caused by any missteps. Circles are best cast outside, in nature for your first few times._

Stiles gaped at the page, then flipped it to the front to check the cover, which was no longer blank. 

_For Beginners: Discovering Magick Alone_

Stiles didn’t know what to make of that. He was sure the book cover had been blank when he picked it up, sure that the insides were written in some language he couldn’t read.

He put the book back in the box and stepped away. His chest felt tight and strange, his breath hitching.

“It’s cause Scott,” he said, bracing his hands on the counter behind him. “Scott got me all freaked out, so I couldn’t read the book at first. That’s why I can read it now.” 

That made sense. There were times when fear made him incapable of functioning at all, let alone reading incredibly intricate script. 

That was obviously all that had happened.

Calmer, Stiles stepped back to the box, pulling the book out to finish reading the page. 

He carefully opened it, braced to find the unidentifiable language again. 

Instead he was met with the same page as before. His shoulders relaxed.

He sat at the table to read.

‘ _First, tools are useful but not strictly necessary (excluding conductors, which will be discussed in chapter 3). An athame will draw a circle as well as salt and your own intentions. Using too many tools at once will weaken your spell, create confusion in your power._

_A salt circle will keep out unwanted energies, a barrier from dark energies. Mountain ash will guard from physical threats. Digging a shallow circle with an athame or your fingers will contain your magick.’_

Stiles flipped a few pages ahead, then, too curious to skim, flipped back.

He kept reading until well into the next day, only moving to sit on the sofa in the living room. 

He only stopped when he found himself lightheaded from hunger. Though it was nearing lunch time, he made scrambled eggs and toast, and sat at the table to read more while he ate.

It was fascinating, like someone had written out a textbook from _Harry Potter_.

He found himself tempted to try some of the little rituals out, despite knowing they weren’t—couldn’t be—real. 

It wouldn’t hurt if he tried them—well, maybe his dignity if anyone caught him playing pretend—but he couldn’t help glancing at the other books in the box longingly.

In the end, it didn’t matter. Once he had food in his belly, his eyes refused to stay open. He barely managed to shuffle up to his bed. 

He woke in the dark—again.

Since he was in bed this time, he allowed himself to wallow, stretching under the heavy weight of three blankets, burrowing in the warmth for a moment.

Then he sighed and rolled toward the edge of the bed, reaching for the lamp on the nightstand.

Before he reached it, his fingers brushed against –something. A spark of light flashed in the dark before the candle he’d bumped sputtered to life.

He yelped and reared back, tangling blankets with his legs. He didn’t get very far.

He stared at the dancing flame, shock and fear coiling in his gut, under a low thrum of…joy?

He lifted his hand, staring at his fingertips. He looked at the candle, then back at his fingers.

_No,_ he thought with a nervous little half smirk. But just in case, he imagined the flickering flame on his fingertip. 

To his relief (and vague disappointment) nothing happened. Of course nothing happened. He wasn’t an X-Man, jeeze.

He stared at the candle, though, because he couldn’t explain how it was lit.

He thought of the book he’d stayed up all night reading. 

_Fire is the simplest to master, and requires the least amount of practice to conjure._

Stiles got out of bed and checked his phone for the time. Nearing five am. He wavered, uncertain, before deciding to shower and gather supplies for a short morning walk. If he happened to bring the book, well, no one would be around to see him do it.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Friday in Taiwan, so...ta-da! (That's where RBek is so it totally counts)  
> Also I was hoping that this chapter might please some people. ^^ Please enjoy! :D

The woods around his temporary house were fantastic. Stiles found himself taking plenty of pictures of oddly shaped rocks, pretty tree patterns—anything that caught his attention. 

The sun was risen, but just barely, giving everything a grayish wintry glow.

Stiles was wrapped up in as many layers as he could manage, since the air was so frigid. He had two pairs of socks on, plus his boots. He’d gotten the sense that the locals found the weather mild in comparison to the winter to come, but Stiles was _freezing_.

He saw birds now and then, and chattered at them, wondering aloud what they were still doing so far north when it was so cold.

He didn’t wander far from the house, afraid of getting lost, so when he got hungry, he simply followed his own tracks back to his porch. He settled on the steps to eat one of the sandwiches he’d packed—out of four, in case he really did get lost—content. He felt calmer after exerting a bit of physical labor, but his brain kept drifting back to the candle. 

He made himself eat slowly, savoring the tastes to ground himself in reality. This would be a very bad time to have a nervous breakdown and start hallucinating.

“Well,” he decided, “might as well get it over with.” 

He was wearing a backpack, inside of which was mostly water, food, and first aid. He’d squeezed the book in, too, along with a jar of rock salt he’d found in the box.

He felt like a mixture of Phoebe from _Charmed_ and a Winchester. 

With that thought making him snicker, he got up and walked into the trees a bit.

He found a spot and unloaded the book and salt, settling his backpack against a tree. He opened the book and began following the instructions, digging a shallow circle all around him in the soft dirt. He used his fingers, mainly because he had nothing else. 

Per the book’s instructions, he sprinkled salt in the line he’d dug, a precaution, the book said.

“Okay, time to look like an idiot.” He sat cross-legged in the center of the circle, and looked at the book. 

He had no candles, so fire was out. His water was in the backpack, and some odd instinct said not to step out of the circle yet. He skimmed for another option.

_Air is good for precognition. It carries life and secrets, a joyful, pure element._

Stiles held his breath and lifted a hand. 

_The first few times you summon air, you’ll need to perform the spell. Press index & middle fingers down, followed by ring and index simultaneously in a light press._

He tried it, slowly, and felt a little gust tug at his hair. He inhaled slowly through hhis nose and tried again, faster. Wind whipped through the trees, the hood of his jacket flying up to cover his eyes.

He laughed, watching as dead leaves kicked up across the ground, skirting the edges of the circle but never entering it.

It settled quickly enough once he got distracted by the book again. He knew the wind was probably coincidence, but…

_When summoning water to your palm, you must be very careful. The pressure of fingers is important. Too much pressure could summon thousands of gallons of water by mistake. With your right hand, a light press of your pinky finger, simultaneous press of index and middle finger for 2 seconds, pinky for 1. Hold left hand out to catch the water._

Stiles looked up and cupped his left hand, a bit confused, and did the finger presses the book said to do.

Immediately, cool water pooled in his palm.

Another laugh burst out of him, filled with delighted disbelief. 

He let the water slip between his fingers and did it again, just to see if he could.

“It worked,” he breathed, jumping to his feet. “I can do _magick!_ ” He blinked, focusing on the world around him, and yelped.

The wolf was back.

Stiles made some gurgling noise of fear again, but the wolf didn’t move. 

It seemed content where it was, laying about seven feet away, muzzle resting on its paws. 

It was definitely watching Stiles, but it didn’t seem aggressive. 

Stiles held his hands out.

While part of him felt safe in his circle, the rest of him knew that he might have conjured a handful of water out of nothing, that was a far cry from defending himself against a massive, 200-plus pound wolf.

He looked at the book, tempted to try just one more thing. He couldn’t see the page from this height, and he wasn’t sure about lowering himself to the ground with the wolf so close.

The wolf let out a little chuff—why it sounded so judging, Stiles would never know—and curled up so his back was to Stiles, ignoring him.

Officer Castille _had_ said he was harmless. She wouldn’t have said that if she wasn’t _sure_. She’d have told him to be careful about going outside if she was even a little doubtful…Right?

Deciding he was curious enough to risk it, Stiles cautiously sat down, keeping his eyes on the wolf. Besides an ear flick, he hadn’t moved.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Stiles flipped the page of the book, crossing his legs more comfortably.

A third of the way down the page was a spell that could be useful.

_To knock something or someone away from you, a simple two finger-spell is efficient for your first try, until you get the feeling of the magick. Discretion is advised, but most non-magickal people will see what is logical and assume they were shoved._

_Intent and a quick press of the index and middle fingers of either hand will suffice._

_*Practicing this spell alone is difficult if oyu’ve nothing to practice pushing away._

Stiles sighed.

He spent an hour, at least, learning little spells. He made grass grow under his hand, warmed the air around him, summoned the birds from the trees and released them again. Fire danced in his palm, twinkling lights glittered in the air around his eyes.

Through it all, the wolf stayed away from him, but watched, too. 

Stiles searched the book and found the page about closing the circle. He had to meditate, which he wasn’t good at. This time was different. He was just calming the wild delight racing through him, banking the joyful embers the magick had sparked. 

Once he was relatively calm, he smoothed away the edge of the circle until the ground in front of him was even again. 

He checked the book, but that’s all it said for him to do, so he stepped out of the circle.

Immediately, frigid air snaked under his jacket and jeans, sent him shivering. Hunger gnawed at his stomach like he hadn’t eaten in days. 

He fell to his knees beside his bag and ripped out a sandwich. He practically inhaled it, and the second one. He put his backpack on while he finished the second one off.

He had sated his hunger enough that he could only eat half of the last sandwich, standing with it in his hand.

The wolf was staring at him again.

It was weird, because he’d seen dogs when they wanted food from someone. Even well-behaved dogs. They sat stone still and gazed longingly at the food.

The wolf watched Stiles, seated seven or eight feet away, ears tipped forward with interest.

“You probably won’t like it,” he managed. “There’s—it’s turkey and mustard.”

The wolf’s fur quivered. His tongue came out to lick at his muzzle, baring his incredibly sharp teeth.

Stiles dropped the sandwich and bolted.

It wasn’t until he was racing up the steps of his porch that he realized _running_ from a canine was supposed to be bad. Especially a wild one. 

It didn’t seem to have chased him, so he was probably safe.

He laughed as he got in the house, the breathless _Oh my god_ laughter of someone who’d been an inch—or seven feet—from death and had gotten away without a scratch. 

 

Later, he talked on the phone with Melissa for a bit, Scott for less, before he took a peek at the composition notebook again.

Maybe he would try the recipes in it.

He chose a page at random, then skimmed until he found something useful and relatively easy. 

_**Serenity** _   
_Lavender essential oil—3 drops_   
_Chamomile_   
_Aloe leaf, ground to a paste_   
_Magick and warmth. Heat on stove, let scent spread. Use before bed or when you don’t plan to go out. Do Not Drink. Use for scent only._

Stiles dug through the box he’d left on the table, until he found most of what he was looking for. No chamomile. 

Wasn’t that tea?

He frowned at the page. There was a little jar of aloe, so he could use that, but he’d have to go into town for the chamomile.

He could try something else, but serenity sounded…good.

He bundled up, this time with a hat, a scarf, and gloves, and went to his car.

Despite the darkness, River’s End was lively. Stores were open and bustling—it was only five in the evening—but the library was closed. Stiles went to the grocery store, pausing just inside the doors. He had no idea where to start.

“Hi,” the girl at the counter called hesitantly. “Are you lost?” she asked and winced. “Or, er, do you need help finding something?” Her smile was wide but nervous, her fingers fiddling with a pen on the counter top.

“I’m—I need chamomile,” he said uselessly. He stepped closer to the counter.

The clerk’s nametag said _Rae_ , and her shoulders hunched a little the closer he got. “Like—tea bags? Or leaves?”

Oh jeeze.

He pulled out his phone to show her the picture he’d taken of the recipe. 

“ _Oh,_ ” she said with something like enlightenment. “Lucie didn’t say—but, yeah. Duh. Canisters of tea are over here.” She stepped out from behind the counter and gestured for him to follow her. “You’re just getting started, right? Well, take it from me—measure _carefully_. You could end up serenely high as a kite for days.” She stretched for the topmost shelf of the aisle she’d led him to and brought down a tin of chamomile tea leaves. “Anything else?”

“Uh.” He stared at the tin. “Any…suggestions?” he asked, confused.

Rae flashed that bright, nervous smile at him. “Cinnamon makes it smell better.”

Back at the house, Stiles carefully measured the tea and aloe, and followed it up with precisely three drops of lavender oil. It all floated rather uninspiringly in the pot.

He checked the notebook.

_Magick and warmth._

He consulted the other book. 

_When a potion requires magick—and most do, unless you bought ingredients with magick in them already—you must focus your energy into your hands._

_If you must, perform a simple spell—first two fingers of both hands, for four seconds, simultaneously. It will bring your magick to your hands and allow you to work it into your herbs._

Stiles shrugged and tried it, letting out a soft breath of shock when yellowish orange light began to flicker over Stiles’s palms, like flames. He held his hands over the pot.

When that didn’t work, he scowled and shook his hands, like he was trying to shake water droplets off. Continued failure annoyed him, so he put his hands in the water, grabbing at the debris floating around.

When he withdrew his hands, the light clung to the herbs, so he considered it a success while he dried his hands on his shirt.

He turned the stove top on, sprinkling the tiniest pinch of cinnamon on the surface of the mixture. The light on the herbs faded, but for some reason, Stiles wasn’t concerned. 

It was like he could sense the magick in the herbs, and was able to tell that it was working.

Soon, the scent of the mixture began to fill the house, and Stiles found himself soothed.

It was a curious sensation, as he hadn’t thought he was particularly tense or stressed in the first place, to feel tension seep from his muscles. 

A bone deep sense of peace settled over him. He was calm enough that he kicked off his shoes, prepared to curl up and sleep wherever he fell.

He shook his head and blinked hard. He couldn’t sleep with the stove on.

He grabbed the phone instead and called Scott.

“Stiles? Are you okay?” Scott asked urgently upon answering.

“Yeah, I’m…good, Stiles said. “I just—I feel really good right now. So I wanted to call and ask about my dad.” Panic wanted to start, his heart racing before slowing again. He took a deep breath and felt his defensively-tensing muscles relax.

“Are you high?” Scott asked sharply, as if he’d asked more than once.

“What? No. Do I have to be to ask about my father?”

“Well…you ran away to a cabin in the mountains because you freaked out, so…yes.” 

“Scott,” Stiles said quietly.

Scott took a noisy breath. “Mom says he’s doing okay. Stitches came out, like I said. Everything’s healing. He’s just…”

“Not waking up,” Stiles mumbled.

A month and a half ago, someone had shot at the Sheriff’s cruiser while he was driving home, through the windshield.

He’d survived the bullet that laid open his cheek, and the second that had skimmed the side of his head. His car had veered off the road and into a tree.

He’d suffered head trauma, broken ribs, a broken femur, fractured forearm, and a myriad of cuts and bruises. 

He hadn’t woken up. Stiles had slowly been losing his mind, the idea of losing two parents, slowly, in the same hospital, overriding the desire to stand by his father’s side. 

So many people had come to express their sympathy, as if the Sheriff was already dead. Even more had expressed pity about his coma. 

“—and Mom said his brain activity had been at a slow but steady incline, which is good.”

“That’s great,” Stiles rasped. 

“Are you okay?” Scott pressed.

“Yeah. Scott, I—I couldn’t watch—”

“I know,” he interrupted quickly. “I get it. I just wish you weren’t alone, by yourself to just…wallow in misery.”

Stiles smiled. Despite the mild stress of having to face reality about his father, he still felt relaxed and calm. “I’m not. I’ve been doing a lot of reading. I went on a mini hike today. Maybe tomorrow I’ll go use the library’s wifi to send you some pictures.”

Scott snorted. “I can’t see how you’re not going crazy without wifi or any internet access.”

_Who needs the internet? I’m fucking magick._ He refrained himself from actually saying that. “I’m a little antsy without it, but it’s kind of nice? Plus, the books are really good.” 

“Huh.” Scott tapped his fingers loudly, near the phone. “What are the people like there?”

“Kinda friendly? I haven’t really talked to anyone but Officer Castille. Oh, and Rae the cashier.” 

Scott laughed. “Tomorrow, when you call, have the name of at least one more local, and I’ll resist the urge to stage a search and rescue.”

“Please. Your mom wouldn’t let you,” Stiles said with a happy sigh. “Mel seriously knows what’s up.”

“She keeps getting mad at me,” Scott confessed. “Apparently I’m saying the wrong thing. I just want you to know what’s happening.” 

Stiles found himself curled on the couch, describing a few of his nightmares to Scott. 

He listened well, and managed to make Stiles feel better and when Stiles started slurring sleepily, he just told him to go to sleep.

He shuffled to put the phone on the cradle and turn off the stove, and lurched upstairs to bed.

The room was warm and permeated with the scent of the serenity potion. Stiles impulsively took a sleepy, peaceful selfie before pulling on pajamas and crawling into bed.

He slept deeply. No nightmares woke him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who has no interest in football, I decided to post early. Also because I myself am bored. Mind you, I'll be watching for Beyonce and the commercials. Also a traditional ice cream bet with my grandmother. But I'm bored most of the time. So...tell me what you think!

True to his word, he went to the library the next day. It had snowed a bit overnight, leaving Stiles to kick slush off his boots before going inside.

The woman at the circulation desk was younger than the one who’d given him his library card. 

He slid his returns into the box and smiled at her; she smiled back.

“Do you need any help?” she asked kindly. 

“Just—does the wifi have a password?” he asked.

She laughed. “Nope. The connection is best right over there.” She pointed to a table near the Non-Fiction section. “I’m Jennifer,” she said with a smile. 

“Oh—I’m Stiles. Thanks.” He went to the table and got his phone out, connecting it to the wifi.

He sent the pictures he’d taken to Scott and Melissa, and glossed over his social media messages.

He took some time to google magick books—grimoires—and Books of Shadows, wading through _Charmed_ and other fictitious works to find anything remotely relating to what he could do.

Someone set a book by his elbow, making him jump.

“Sorry,” she gasped. “Miss Blake said you might like that?”

It was the same teenager who’d helped him before, though this time her long hair was tied back, her glasses smudged a little bit. She was wearing a nametag that said _Alice, Volunteer Page_. 

Stiles looked at the book. _History of River’s End_ scrawled across the red leather cover. 

“Who’s Miss Blake?” he asked blankly.

Alice blinked. “Oh! I’m sorry. Jennifer? She’s at the front desk.”

“Right. Sorry.” He didn’t want to touch the book, and he couldn’t figure out why. Everything in him wanted to cringe away from it. _It's just a history book_ , he thought uneasily. “Well, um. Thanks.” 

“Yeah, no problem.” She smiled and pushed her cart away.

Stiles used the tip of his finger to open the cover.

Instead of _History of River’s End_ , though, the title page said _Blood Magick_. 

He frowned and flipped to the first page. The words weren’t in English, and the pages were covered in brown spatter stains.

Nauseated, Stiles slapped the book shut and jumped up, taking the book the desk.

“What the hel—what is this?” Stiles demanded. He slapped the book on the desk, making Jennifer jump.

“I’m sorry?” She looked at the book, confused. “I thought you might be interested in how we all got here…?”

“No.” Stiles flipped the cover open.

She looked down again. “Oh! What is that?” She leaned closer to the book. “I’m _sorry_. Sometimes, the kids.” She flapped a hand. “They like to switch covers—but this isn’t even a library book,” she muttered, skimming her fingers over the page. “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean any offense…”

Stiles shrugged, feeling more at ease once the book was away from him. “How could you know? It’s—it’s fine. It just freaked me out. Blood.” He shuddered.

“I know.” Jennifer wrinkled her nose. “Well, now that I’ve completely freaked you out, is there anything I can help you find?”

Stiles laughed. “No, I’m good. I should get going, actually. I have a call to make.”

“Oh. Alright. Have a good day!” Her smile was a little forced, like she still felt bad about the book. 

Stiles shrugged again and went out the door, pausing to tug on his gloves and hat.

He decided to go to the grocery store while he was out, picking up things to make himself some burgers for dinner.

Most of the customers stared at him, curious, and he tried to ignore it or at least smile back.

Beacon Hills wasn’t exactly the city, so he understood the small town curiosity centered around newcomers.

That didn’t make it any easier, feeling people watch him as he picked out potatoes.

He didn’t last long in the store, buying his groceries and retreating.

Since the library was directly across the street, when he saw Jennifer stepping outside to check the drop box, he felt compelled to wave, to make sure she knew there were no hard feelings.

She waved back, beaming, and Stiles got into the jeep.

He called Scott when he got home, telling him he’d gone out and knew the name of two people from town.

“The librarian?” Scott asked doubtfully. “Is she cute?”

“Seriously?”

“Have you _seen_ the Beacon Hills Public librarian?” Scott countered.

Stiles laughed a little. “She’s not…unattractive.”

So then Scott pressed for details that Stiles didn’t have since he’d only spoken to her for a moment.

Once Scott was satisfied about that, he started talking about the pictures Stiles had sent, teasing him about the selfie.

“You should take more mini hikes,” he finished with. “Take more pictures.”

“I might,” Stiles said. “Maybe tomorrow.” He was already looking for more spells to practice.

“Good.” Scott sounded pleased. “Mom wants to talk.” 

He talked with Melissa for twenty minutes, before she had to go in to work.

He bookmarked several spells he wanted to try, then got to work making his burgers and cutting up the potatoes to make fries.

He had the top half of the back door open to keep the smoke from gathering, and in between flips, he went to stand by the door just to look and breathe. 

His third trip to the door, he spotted the wolf in the yard, nose tipped up.

His fur was dusted with snow, making it a bit difficult to keep sight of until he got to the bottom of the stairs. He was sniffing the air in little huffs, creeping closer in hesitant little steps. 

Stiles hesitated himself, then backed away from the door. He felt like he’d regret it, but he grabbed one of the burgers he’d made and went back to the door. 

The wolf was still at the bottom step, staring and sniffing.

“I’m so going to regret this,” he decided, and gave the burger a little toss. 

It landed on the deck, halfway between the stairs and the door. Stiles swore. “Great. Wasted a burger.” 

The wolf looked between Stiles and the burger before apparently the lure of free food outweighed any threat Stiles may have posed, because it darted forward and snapped it up in two greedy bites. A puff of air came from it— _his_ , Stiles thought, nose, almost like a satisfied sigh.

“Yeah, enjoy it. Gotta be better than like, rabbit or whatever.”

The wolf let out a little chuff and snapped its teeth before bounding off the porch and away from the house.

“That’s some gratitude,” Stiles grumbled. “Feed the beast and it just leaves. I could live with a house guard for the night in repayment!” he called, and realized he was shouting after a wild animal.

He went inside to eat and hide the crazy.

 

It was around noon the next day that Stiles went for another hike. He brought a bigger backpack and a peace offering—some leftovers from the night before. Hopefully, if the wolf came sniffing, the leftovers would distract him enough that Stiles could get away.

He drew his circle—with all of his supplies inside this time—and got to work learning more difficult spells. 

Some of the hardest spells required both hands to learn, but Stiles wasn’t quite there yet, so he worked on the simple yet rewarding spells on his level.

They ranged from a sort of temporary telekinesis to encouraging plants to grow out of season. He learned to knock things away from him and to turn his energy into a weapon, how to create balls of fire and water. 

He could cool or heat his drink with a finger flick, kick up a mild windstorm at a whim and—on mistake—had the ground trembling for a moment before he quickly righted the spell.

From afar, the wolf sat and watched him. 

He wanted to try the locating spell, but it seemed complicated, and who knew what would happen if he messed it up?

With a sigh, he got the bag of leftovers and lobbed a chunk of hamburger toward the wolf.

There were spells to peek at the future and the past, to check on loved ones remotely and to astral project. Dream weaving, warding, binding—things he wanted to try but wasn’t sure he could do. 

The wolf crept closer, head low. His tail wagged hopefully when Stiles looked at him.

“Oh, yeah. Here.” He tossed more food and looked back at the book.

There was a spell for creating a shield—four fingers required from each hand in rapid succession.

He tried it a couple times before he got it right. A translucent half-bubble rose in front of him.

Curious, he tossed a piece of hamburger at it—it bounced back.

Stiles laughed and looked at the wolf. “How cool is that?” As if the wolf could reply or understand.

The wolf huffed and sat down, no doubt upset the hamburger didn’t make it to him.

Stiles snickered and lobbed the burger over the shield, so it landed at the wolf’s feet.

“I should go into town again,” Stiles mused. “Talking to wild animals like this.” He shook his head. “As long as you don’t maul me, I guess it doesn’t matter.” The shield wavered, then collapsed. 

The wolf laid on its stomach and watched.

Stiles spent another two hours doing spells he’d already tried, trying to do them from memory with mixed results.

He accidentally sent a gust of wind through the trees so powerful that it dug a furrow in the ground and the wolf had to leap out of the way, snorting. 

“Oops,” he panted. He’d held his middle finger down too long—he thought. “Well, I can’t be perfect,” he said cheerfully, and tried again. This time, he managed a pleasant breeze.

The Book of Shadows (the one that had belonged to Nadia and Andre Castille) had plenty of spells in it, too, mixed in with journal entries. They seemed to be homemade, and simple. Spells for turning off lights, warming up a room, warding spells for intruders, an empathy spell.

Stiles even found a spell to cure headaches, which quickly became his favorite. He tried a night vision spell, but there were so many finger presses and flicks required he kept messing it up.

Eventually, he got cold and tired enough that he packed up to go home, leaving the rest of the food in a pile for the wolf.

“You’d think you’d be more interested in, like, rabbits and deer and shit than cooked cow,” Stiles commented, amused.

The wolf kept scarfing down the burger, so Stiles went home.

He walked into the house to the distinct feeling that someone had been inside. The back of his neck prickled, but he couldn’t pinpoint the feeling.

Nothing was out of place or missing that he could see, but it still felt off, like someone had walked through and touched everything, just to mess with him.

He set his bag on the table and carefully walked from room to room, but as he’d thought—nothing was out of place. 

He bit his lip and looked at the Book of Shadows. It couldn’t _hurt_.

With some hesitation, he walked the perimeter of the house, performing the warding spell all over the grounds.

He could feel it, when he walked back inside—a sort of sense of security now, the knowledge that he’d _know_ if someone came too close.

Grinning, he grabbed the phone to call Scott. 

“Oh, hey,” Scott said breathlessly. “Hang on.”

“Oh-” Stiles began, interrupted by a muffled woman’s voice asking who it was. “Uh.”

“Sorry. What’s up?” 

“Nothing—who was that? It didn’t sound like Allison or your mom…”

Scott laughed, a high-pitched, nervous sound. “That was Mrs. Hale. I came over to the Hale place. They needed help with, um, some yard work.”

Stiles snorted. “Why? Doesn’t Cora Hale usually do that?”

Scott made a squeaky noise. “Yes.”

“Oh-kay.” Stiles frowned at the phone. “Do you want to call me back when you’re done?”

“Yes, please,” Scott sighed. “Sorry, bro. I’ll call soon, promise.”

“Okay. Have, um, fun.” 

Stiles stared at the phone for a long minute, trying to figure out why he’d sounded so nervous.

Then he started wondering why he was at the Hales. They were a big family that lived a little outside of town. Scott and Stiles had gone to school with their youngest daughter, but they’d been in different social circles, so they didn’t really know her.

Stiles had seen all of the Hales around town at least once throughout his life, but rarely interacted with them.

He vaguely remembered them reporting one of their sons missing when he was twelve, but that was around his mother’s death, so the details were fuzzy.

He wondered when Scott had begun hanging out with them. There were six Hale children, he thought, along with a plethora of cousins. Maybe Scott had befriended one of them and didn’t want to hurt Stiles’s feelings by saying so.

Scott was acting weird, and Stiles was in the mountains playing with magick and a wolf. Stiles wasn’t sure what his life was becoming.  
 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have resigned myself to posting on Sunday and Thursday nights rather than Mondays and Fridays. OTL Adult life sucks. Aaaannnnyway this is a chapter I've been dying to show everyone so I hope everyone likes it!! Tell me what you think!

Thanksgiving was fast approaching. Stiles noticed only because there were new faces in town whenever he ventured out, family groups gathered taking pictures in front of stores or on benches. Food at the grocery store was going fast, but since Stiles’s plan was to ignore the holidays until they went away, he was perfectly able to find simple food for himself.

He had been playing with magick for a couple weeks, and had even felt a ripple of magick from other people, he thought, yesterday. 

“That’s just sad,” a voice to his right said, making him jump.

It was a couple days before T-Day, and he had hoped to make a clean getaway with hamburger meat and frozen pizzas.

He relaxed a little when he saw Jennifer Blake. They weren’t _friends_ , but they were friendly enough to stop and talk when they saw each other. 

“I’m protesting this year,” Stiles said, aiming for levity. 

Jennifer smiled. “Oh? What for?”

“I don’t like turkey,” he said conspiratorially. “Don’t tell the locals. They already don’t like me.”

She laughed. “There’s plenty of ham, too.”

Stiles shrugged. “I plan to hole up in my house with my frozen pizza until the whole holiday is over, then venture out to restock before Christmas.” 

“Ah. Well, you’re welcome to come by my place for Thanksgiving,” she offered kindly, though she turned a little pink at the offer.

“Ah, ha. Yeah. I’m not really in the mood for a family dinner,” he said awkwardly. He was somewhat annoyed at the admission—he’d meant to keep things light.

“Oh. Well, um. It’s just me, actually. I don’t really have any close relatives.”

Before Stiles could think of another good reason to refuse again, Officer Castille approached from his other side. 

“Stiles,” she said a little grimly. “I need to talk to you.” Her face was tight, scaring him. 

The way she said it, her tone—it reminded him of the night Melissa had called to tell him his father was in the hospital. 

He managed to inhale, trying to get his footing. “Is everything alright?” He glanced toward Jennifer, but she was already gone. He frowned. 

“No, not really.” Officer Castille scrubbed her hands over her face. “How about you meet me outside after you’re done? We shouldn’t talk about this in here.”

Stiles searched her face, trying to understand. Was she talking about the magick? 

He’d found the books in her basement, after all. Maybe he’d done something on accident, and she was going to take the magick away for misusing it or something. 

“Stiles?”

He blinked at her. “I—sorry. Yeah. That’s fine.” What a weird train of thought. Why would Officer Castille _take away_ the magick? He didn’t even know if that was possible. He didn’t even know if she _could_.

“Okay. Thanks.” She glanced back at him a couple times as she walked away, but there was more concern in her gaze than anything.

Stiles finished shopping at a record speed, going through the empty self-checkout. Other customers stared as he hustled outside.

Officer Castille was tugging at the ends of her springy brown curls, pacing the sidewalk. She managed a quick smile when she saw him. 

“What’s going on?”

She grimaced. “Okay. So, don’t get worked up. A teenager went missing yesterday afternoon. We found her cell phone near the woods—about two miles from your place.”

Stiles stared at her. “Wh—do you—are you—?”

“No! No, no, no. Look, I just wanted to warn you that there’s gonna be a search party. They’ll be tramping all over the place.” She stared at him until he nodded. “And, well, there are some locals who’ll give you a hard time. You’re new, they don’t know you. But!” She held up her hand quickly. “I know you didn’t do it, and so do Alice’s parents.” She winced.

“Alice—the girl that worked in the library?”

Officer Castille nodded. 

“How do you know I didn’t do it?” Stiles asked suspiciously. 

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t play dumb, Stiles. You reached out.”

Stiles frowned. “What?”

She sighed. “Okay. You were in the basement yesterday, right?”

He had been, in fact, looking at the bottles on the shelves and practicing magick. He stared at her. 

“You must have done— _something_ —and we felt you reach out.” She smiled brightly at him. “So we lent you some, er, hands.” 

He’d been trying a spell from the grimoire, to reach out to other witches or magick users. He hadn’t gotten a _reply_ , but he’d felt…steadied, as if someone had reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. 

His eyes widened. “Are you—can you—?”

“ _Anyway_ , so we know you weren’t involved, no worries. Just be careful and, hey, maybe keep an eye out. If she got lost, she may end up at your place. Thanks!” She patted his shoulder and bound away, leaving a warmth spreading through his jacket where she’d touched him. 

Stiles went to the jeep, loading the groceries into the passenger seat, thinking. Officer Castille was also…magickal. Duh. Her parents had obviously written the Book of Shadows he’d been reading. 

But then why hadn’t she told him anything about it? Hadn’t helped him figure out what was going on with him before now?

Stiles shook his head and got into the driver’s seat, taking a moment to just sit.

A couple passed the front of his jeep and paused to glance at his face. The woman was scowling, and the man looked frightened. 

Stiles smiled awkwardly and looked away quickly. They started walking again eventually.

Stiles started the jeep and backed out.

He planned to burrow in the house, maybe do some practicing in the backyard while he cooked. 

He decided he would bring some chicken outside for the wolf, who, after a couple weeks of being friendly, had been dubbed _Wolf_ instead of the wolf. 

Not very creative, but Stiles felt weird giving him a name. He felt like…–well, it didn’t matter. Wolf wasn’t judging him.

When he got back to the house, he glanced around before getting his groceries. He hadn’t gotten to be comfortable enough around Wolf to let him get close, let alone in the house, so when he saw Wolf sprawled at the foot of the steps, he paused.

“Uh.” He shifted his grocery bags in his hands, nervous. “I have to go inside. I’ve got, um, chicken. So—I was gonna share. If I can cook?” His voice squeaked.

As oddly polite a wild animal Wolf was, he still had large teeth and a big, powerful body. Stiles had a healthy respect for things that could kill him. 

Wolf snorted and got up, shaking himself before bounding away toward the trees.

Stiles frowned after him, then shrugged and went inside. 

Once he got the chicken baking, he opened the back door and went outside. 

He had the books with him, and salt. He had been making his circle in the backyard for the past week, instead of deep in the woods, since it seemed silly to make such a long trek. 

He sat and practiced his usual spells, thrilled to find that he had managed to memorize a few of them, so he could perform them almost like a reflex. 

He wanted to try a tricky binding spell he’d seen at the back of the book. There were quite a few spells he wanted to try—a sentry spell, healing, levitation—but he figured he’d start with the one that looked simplest. 

Wolf came into the yard sometime after his third failed attempt at the binding spell.

“Yeah, yeah. Gloat all you want.” Stiles scowled at the flowering bush he’d been trying to bind. He’d done a spell to make it bloom out of season minutes ago. Done right, the binding spell would have made it freeze, so even the wind wouldn’t have rustled the leaves. 

He broke the circle so he could check on the chicken, humming to himself.

It wasn’t quite done yet, so he flipped the pieces and put it back in the oven.

When he went back outside, he checked the spell again.

“This is the last time,” he said firmly.

Wolf huffed.

“Shush, you. I’m serious. If I can’t do it this time, I’ll go back to the easy spells.” 

Another huff, and Wolf lowered himself to the ground, like he might take a nap. 

Stiles rolled his eyes and lifted both hands. An involuntary giggle escaped him at the sight he made, a pianist with no instrument. He did the spell carefully, each finger flick timed cautiously. 

The feeling drifted over him like a blanket settling, a weight in his mind. The sensation of not being alone was sudden, so sharp that he turned around to check if he was being watched.

His vision went out for a moment, and cold pain on his knees made him aware that he’d dropped to them. When he could see again, he found himself nose to muzzle with Wolf, whose eyes were glowing blue and wide. 

He could _feel_ Wolf now, could sense his hunger, his curiosity. 

_Confused._

“I—I don’t know. That…wasn’t supposed to happen.” Because he was already on the ground, he let himself fall back on his butt.

Wolf eased back on his haunches, still watching Stiles. _Sick? Sick?_

The concern was pressing, focused. Not sharing an emotion, but purposely asking a question.

“No, I’m okay.” He reached for the book to read the notes for the binding spell, like how to undo it.

Beneath the spell’s notes, however, was a second type of binding spell.

‘ _To create a bond between witch and familiar, there must be mutual affection, respect. The spell is simple and will create a psychic bond. A familiar will help stabilize a witch’s magick, as well as keep them company. The bond will allow familiar and witch to communicate more clearly than animal and human usually manage, though the familiar will still only be able to communicate basic emotions._ ’

Stiles dropped the book. “Shit.” He put his head between his knees so he could just breathe for a while.

A cold nose touched his wrist, bumping gently twice before backing off.

He sat up. “What the hell did I _do?_ ” 

The only thing he could think of was to get up and wobble his way inside, pausing at the door when Wolf didn’t follow him.

“Well, we have a psychic bond now. You can probably be trusted not to kill me.” 

A snort, followed by amusement zinging through the bond. Wolf loped up the deck and through the door, sailing into the house and leaving Stiles to scramble after him.

“Hey, _hey_ , don’t track—oh.” 

Wolf had politely paused in the kitchen, keeping his muddy paw prints on the linoleum. 

“Right. I’ll get a towel.” 

Wolf yawned and sat down.

Once Wolf was dry, he went about sniffing the entire house. Stiles left him to it so he could call Officer Castille.

“What happened?” was how she answered.

“Uh?”

“I felt your energy just—you freaked out. What happened?”

“How do you _know_ these things?” he demanded. “Stop being so damn cryptic!”

Her noisy sigh made the line crackle. “This is stuff you’re supposed to learn on your own. It’s an adventure, a journey—it’s how it’s done.” She sighed again. “But I’m a magickal empath, if you must know.” 

“Oh my god. You let me mess with mythical forces—”

“Nothing dangerous! Jeeze, Stiles. It’s not like I was letting you play around a portal to hell or something.” She laughed. “What’d you do?”

“I…accidentally…the book says I bound him to me? A familiar?”

“You found a familiar?” she asked warmly. “That’s great!”

“No, Officer Castille-”

“Lucie,” she corrected.

“ _Lucie_ ,” he sighed. “I did it on accident.”

Two beats of buzzing silence. “Okay. Tell me.” 

So he did. Quickly. 

“You bound—the _wolf?_ ” she choked.

“Erm, yes. Totally on accident! I thought I was immobilizing a bush, actually…”

“Has—can you communicate with him?” Lucie demanded.

“I mean, sort of. Why?”

“Do you know his name?” she pressed.

“Um. No. It’s a wolf. I call him Wolf.”

A sneeze from the living room.

“Damn. Well. Okay. Well.” Her voice perked up to her usual cheerfulness. “Now you’ve got a familiar. Be nice to each other!” 

“Wait, you haven’t told me how to-”

“Bye!” The line clicked.

“-to undo this. Oh my _god_. She’s _the_ most interfering, cryptic woman on _earth._ ”

Wolf, from the doorway of the kitchen, snorted. _Doubt._

“Oh, like you know very many people.” Stiles ran his hand over his face. “Well, there’s food, anyway.”

Wolf’s ears perked up.

“Yeah, food is your kryptonite, I know.” Stiles got the chicken out. “But I suppose it’s at least a _little_ tastier than raw rabbit.”

_Agreed._

The rest of the day was spent learning about the familiar-witch bond, learning how Wolf communicated. Mostly it was vague emotions and single words that appeared in Stiles’s head with the distinct feeling that it wasn’t him thinking it.

There were times when Wolf would stare at him, frustration wafting through the bond, but Stiles didn’t know what he _wanted._

It was late when he finally understood. He was getting ready for bed—he’d left the back door open for a little while to let Wolf handle his urgent need for relief—when a snort stopped him.

Wolf had followed him up the stairs.

“Oh, yeah. I guess you’ve got a den you probably want to get back to.” Stiles frowned—the idea of separating wasn’t a pleasant one. 

Wolf snorted again, still staring up at him intensely. 

“I can let-”

_Touchtouchtouchtouchtouch!_ The word roared through his head, sent him reeling back, startled. 

Wolf whined and lowered his head.

_Touch_ kept echoing through his head, a whisper, as if all the time Wolf had been staring at him was because he’d been trying to say that. _Please._

“Okay.” Stiles knelt in front of him. “Just. Don’t bite me?” 

A huff, the sensation of offense. 

“Well, you never know.” Some part of Stiles’s brain must have realized he was about to pet a wild wolf, because he was shaking a little when he reached out.

At first contact, Wolf climbed into his lap, whining, like a Pomeranian. 

Stiles wheezed and kept stroking his back. “Yes, okay. Good. I see. Food isn’t your only weakness, huh?” he panted, scratching behind his ears.

He untangled a twig from the fur he was petting. “Dude, you need a bath.”

A low whine. 

“You’re filthy.” Stiles sighed. “But it can wait. Can we go to bed now? I’m tired.”

Wolf reluctantly got off of him, then nosed apologetically at the scratches he’d left in his haste.

Stiles yawned widely and changed into his pajamas. His skin prickled, but when he turned, Wolf was staring at the bed. 

“I should probably wash the sheets tomorrow, anyway.” Stiles flopped onto the bed, patted it. “Well, come on.” 

Wolf flinched, then leaped onto the bed. When he laid down, he groaned like an old man. 

“You may look like a wolf, but I suspect you’ve got the spirit of someone’s pampered lapdog in there.”

One eye opened to glare at him, but Stiles felt amusement.

Stiles had the first dream that night.

It started like his usual nightmares, Melissa telling him the Sheriff was dead, everyone demanding to know why he hadn’t helped him, when, like a channel switching, it all disappeared. 

_Stiles found himself in an unfamiliar bedroom. The bed was made up with a black and blue comforter, with matching pillows. There were two bookcases overflowing with books, as well as a desk piled high with them. The walls were pale green and on one, there was a mounted shelf with sports trophies on it, along with one shaped like a beaker that completely baffled Stiles._

_“Whoa,” a soft voice beside him said._

_He lurched away from the bed, tripping over the desk chair and landing on the ground. It didn’t hurt._

_“Who—who-?”_

_The dark haired man turned to face him, a frown of confusion marring his face. “This is my room—was my room.” He stood up and touched the wall. “Wow,” he said quietly. “It looks exactly right.”_

_Stiles got back to his feet and sat in the chair._

_The man turned back to Stiles sharply. “You were having a nightmare.”_

_Stiles nodded. “My dad—he got hurt. I get scared sometimes.”_

_“Tell me.”_

_And Stiles told him. In the way of dreams, he didn’t feel awkward around this stranger, didn’t hesitate to let out his fear and hopes and continue talking until the man frowned again just before—_ —Stiles woke up.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO here's seven!! Hope it's still enjoyable! Let me know what you think!

Stiles dreamt of the man every time he started to have a nightmare. They spoke a lot. The man couldn’t tell Stiles his name or anything about himself, claiming it was “the curse”. Stiles suspected he was a ghost, invading Stiles’s dreams when he started having nightmares. 

He planned to ask Officer Castille—Lucie—about it, if he could ever get her to answer his questions.

When Stiles needed groceries, it was the Wednesday after T-Day, so hopefully, the stores would be empty. 

He’d offered to let Wolf ride with him, but five minutes in, he’d puked out the window. So he loped back toward the house while Stiles ventured to the grocery store.

The girl from before was there—Rae. She smiled with recognition when she noticed him. The man she was ringing up followed her gaze reflexively and glowered at Stiles before turning back to snatch his purchases. 

“Could you move?” a woman demanded. “You’re blocking the door.”

Startled, he side-stepped—she sneered at him as she shoved her cart past.

He stared after her. He felt like he’d worn something offensive without realizing it—he checked his outfit, but it was just his plain jacket, jeans, and boots. Almost identical to everyone else in the store. 

Rae approached him. “Hey. Do you need any help today?” she asked pleasantly. She touched his shoulder, sent a little flood of warmth through him.

“Is that—are you—?” How many witches were _in_ this town? 

She just smiled. “Need any more tea?” she asked innocently.

River’s End was so very strange.

“No, just, um, just groceries.” He smiled weakly. 

“Okey-doke. Don’t mind them,” she added quietly. “They’re just being petty.”

A man sniffed. “Petty. When two children go missing near an outsider’s house and he’s no alibi, I call that _rightful suspicion._ ” 

“I call it small-minded bias toward anyone who hasn’t lived here their whole life,” Rae snapped back. “Come on, Stiles.” 

“I—How did you know my name?” he asked as she marched them away.

She smiled sweetly. “Lucie Castille told me. She’s mentoring me. She wanted me to give you a hand if they were getting hostile.”

“Won’t they get hostile with you?” Stiles asked. He was vaguely amused, because Rae seemed impatient with the customers glaring at him.

What did these people matter to him? This wasn’t his home, these weren’t his neighbors. This was his escape. The people here weren’t going to see him again, once he went back to Beacon Hills. 

“No. My family’s been in River’s End since—well, since it was founded.” She shrugged. “Did you know that witches formed a safe town from hunters and fanatics here? It was—oh.” She paused. “What did you need again?”

“Um, er, groceries. I was just going to fill a cart,” he admitted. “Rae, did that man say _children_? More than one?”

She grimaced. “A boy went missing two nights ago,” she whispered. “He’s twelve.”

“How old was the other girl?”

“Sixteen.” Rae shook her head. “Lucie knows you didn’t do it.”

“ _How?_ An accidental –spell,” he lowered his voice on that word, “the first time?”

Rae chewed her lip. Sighed. “Besides Lucie’s empathy, there’s something…else. This has happened before. Almost nine years ago now? Kids started disappearing. They were all, you know…magick. So it _obviously_ couldn’t be you. How old _are_ you?”

“Twenty-one,” Stiles mumbled, pulling a box of cereal off the shelf.

“See? You weren’t kidnapping sixteen-year-olds when you were _twelve_ ,” she snickered. 

Stiles didn’t think it was the time to tell her about how he’d read about serial killers grooming their children to follow their footsteps. 

Rae sighed. “Just—you know. Be safe. Don’t worry about them.” She shrugged. “If Lucie suspected you, she’d have gotten a warrant and searched the house.” 

Stiles kept quiet as he picked out his food, thoughtful.

After he paid and loaded up the jeep, he decided to stop in the library to say hello to Jennifer.

It was basically deserted when he went in—the door to the office behind the circulation desk was open.

He leaned forward, trying to see in, when a short scream of frustration jolted him, followed by the thud of books falling to the floor.

“Hey,” he called, scrambling over the desk, “are you okay?” 

Jennifer was seated on the ground surrounded by books with her hands over her face, crying. 

“Whoa, what happened? Are you alright?” 

She wiped her cheeks. “Yes,” she sniffled. “I’m sorry, I just-” Her eyes filled with tears. “Alice volunteered here, you know. She helped put the returns away and I-” she cut off and looked at the scattered books around her. “I just got so upset.”

Stiles crossed the room to help her stack up the books. “Have you known her long?”

Jennifer smiled vaguely. “I babysat her when she was little, before I went away to college.” She swiped at her cheeks impatiently. “Thank you,” she said quietly. She got to her feet and put the books she’d grabbed on a cart.

Stiles smiled and handed her the rest. “No problem. Oops—missed one.” He stretched to grab the book he’d spotted under the table. He felt a burn on his palm where he’d grabbed it, making him hiss. 

Curious, he flipped it over. It was a thick, leather book with an odd, twisting flower on the cover.

“Oh—give me that.” Jennifer snatched it from him.

When he looked up at her, shocked, she was turning rather red. “Um—sorry?”

“It’s—it’s silly,” she admitted. “My…diary sounds juvenile,” she said with distaste. “My private journal,” she decided. “Sorry.”

“Oh, no. It’s—yeah.” Stiles stood up and put his hands in his pockets. After two emotional outbursts from her, he felt sort of awkward. “Well, I just…came to say hi,” he mumbled.

Her cheeks were still red. “Hello,” she said, pressing the book to her abdomen possessively.

He forced a laugh. “Yes, hi. And—my groceries are in the car.” It was too cold outside for anything to go bad. “So I should get going.”

“Yes, you should.”

“See you, Jennifer.”

She watched him leave.

On the way out, he tried to tell himself she was embarrassed, of course she was, but he couldn’t help feeling like the flush in her cheeks had been from a sort of, well, _rage._

He went home quickly.

Wolf met him at the door with a friendly bump against the legs.

“Yeah, I got food. Gonna make a pot roast today.”

A wave of excitement, followed by trepidation. 

“My pot roast is the best,” Stiles assured him.

Wolf watched while Stiles prepared the food. While he was chopping vegetables, Scott called to check in. He’d been doing that less, and Stiles wasn’t sure whether he was happy about it or not.

“-and we’re going to the movies soon, just to get out of the house,” Scott said.

“Who? You and Melissa?”

Scott sighed. “No. I told you. Cora, Erica, Isaac, Boyd, and me?”

Wolf let out a low whine. 

Stiles opened the back door to let him out, but he didn’t go. Just bombarded Stiles with desperation and sadness.

“You sure got popular.” Stiles winced. He sounded jealous.

He and Scott _had_ been just, well, him and Scott for so long that it was weird to imagine Scott having other friends. He’d always been friendly with everyone, but never hang-out-with friendly, except Allison, of course, but she’d just become part of the group morphing it seamlessly from duo to trio.

Stiles didn’t miss the fact that Scott suddenly gained a ton of friends while he was gone.

“-really, Cora’s friends, and Allison knows Cora’s family, so-” Scott was saying quickly.

“Cool,” Stiles interjected. “What’re you going to see?” He focused on his cooking and let Scott talk, only absorbing every third word or so.

“Oh, Mom’s home. She’ll want to say hi.”

Melissa talked to him for a little while in a soft, calm voice.

“How’s, um, how’s my dad?”

She stayed quiet for a long, heavy moment. “He’s healing. It takes time. Dr. Burke has high hopes.” 

_Hopes._ Stiles swallowed. Counted to five. “Good. I’m—glad. Are you going with Scott to the movies?” he asked, high pitched.

“No, he’s not going back to school until Tuesday, so I’ll see him later.” She didn’t let Stiles ask any more questions. Instead, she regaled him with tales of the ER, leaving out the patients’ names. “And now, I’m going to sleep. You eat and _relax_.” 

“Okay.” He put the phone down and the roast in the oven.

A soft _wuff_ from behind him had him turning.

He shrugged. “They’re busy.” He closed the back door. “It’s freezing in here. Let’s go start a fire.” He set a timer on his phone and put it on the arm of the sofa. 

Stiles was better at getting the fire going now, since it only took him a few finger flicks to start it.

Once it was roaring away, he settled on the sofa and Wolf sprawled in his lap. 

He’d been afraid before, but after discovering just how _much_ Wolf liked cuddling and being petted, Stiles viewed him as a puppy trapped in a vicious-looking body.

He rubbed behind Wolf’s ears, set him sighing. “Yeah, I know, you big cotton ball.” He hummed thoughtfully. “Wolves are pack animals. Are you a big softie ’cause you have no pack?”

Wolf grunted and pressed his nose against Stiles’s leg. 

Stiles yawned. “Yeah, whatever, tough guy.” 

 

_  
When the nightmare started, he barely had time to get upset before he was ripped away from it._

_“Where are we now?” he asked._

_So far, in every dream, they had been someplace new to Stiles, but not to the dark haired man._

_Stiles looked around. “Is this a school?” he demanded._

_The man nodded, gazing around with apparent interest. “I had science here. I liked it.” He sat on one of the lab desks and looked at Stiles. “I had five siblings.”_

_“Really?”_

_He nodded. “Three younger than me.”_

_Stiles crossed his arms. “I don’t want to talk about family.”_

_“Could you always do magick?” the man asked._

_Stiles shook his head. “Not until I came here. Nothing weird before this.”_

_“Why do you think that is?” the man wondered, standing up to wander the room._

_“I don’t know. Officer Castille won’t tell me anything.” He frowned and sat beside a table. “How old were you?”_

_“When I was cursed? Seventeen,” he replied._

_Stiles must have looked skeptical, because he laughed, a quick bark of sound._

_“Do I look older? I should. I’m twenty-five now.” He crossed the room to peer at a pane of glass. “I can’t see my reflection on anything.”_

_“Well,” Stiles said lightly, “you’ve aged well.”_

_A smirk curled the man’s mouth. Without warning, he pounced from clean across the room, tumbling Stiles to the tile floor and landing on his stomach. “Oh, yeah?”_

_Stiles, breathless, could only nod._

_“Well, don’t get too attached,” he said bitterly, in an abrupt departure from his playfulness. “Right now and probably forever, I look-”_

_He disappeared suddenly, leaving Stiles feeling cold and deserted._

Loud ringing woke him, his timer for the roast shrilling. 

Wolf was by the fire, shivering.

“Wow.” Stiles yawned and stretched. “Long nap.” He turned the timer off, cringing at the noise. The house smelled great, though, warm and homey. 

He took it out and let it sit while he got out some dishes. Wolf generally ate out of bowls to spare Stiles the cleanup of a plate vs muzzle. 

Wolf followed him a few minutes later, once he’d started dishing out the food. 

“You want a lot of broth?” he asked, lifting a spoon. He paused. Why would a wolf know what broth even _was?_

Wolf stared at him.

“Er, well…”

Wolf tipped his nose up, then down, which was enough of a nod that Stiles spooned some broth into the bowl alongside the meat.

They ate in front of the fire, while a movie played in the background for company.

“I should probably, like, cancel my Netflix subscription and phone plan while I’m here,” he mused. “I can’t use either. But Scott and Mel use my Netflix, so I guess that’s fine. My phone would be so irritating to get reconnected if I cancelled it.” He chased a potato around his plate with his fork.

Wolf, who’d finished his and was simply licking the bowl, grunted.

“It’s empty. And clean.” Stiles sighed. He stretched his legs and finished his food, then let Wolf lick his plate clean. 

He spent the night with his head on Wolf’s side, watching _Pitch Perfect_ and _Silent Hill_ until he drifted off.  
 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...here's eight. Eight is my favorite number, so in the past I've made sure eight was an exciting chapter--hopefully this chapter is exciting!! :D

Christmastime was upon them. Everything was snow-crusted and green-and-red. Families were gathering. Stiles became a recluse again, since the sight of happy families made him vaguely ill.

Two other teenagers had gone missing, so at least four families were not filled with holiday cheer. Officer Lucie looked grim but determined every time Stiles saw her from across the street, her curls pulled back and lines etching their way across her forehead.

Stiles’s plan for Christmas was to ignore it and try out the harder spells he’d been teaching himself. Some of the spells could be long lasting, he’d learned, if he performed the spell over a potion and put the potion on his skin. The first ones he’d learned, he discovered, he could perform with a thought and a hand wave. 

Stiles was playing with an energy ball he’d made, letting Wolf chase it four days before Christmas when Lucie stopped by.

“The sight of that wolf chasing a ball is _never_ going to leave my mind,” she laughed, rounding the house. She wore civilian clothes, a hot pink winter jacket and some black leggings tucked into heeled boots. 

Wolf skidded to a stop, staring at her.

“Yeah, I remember you,” she said. Then she looked at Stiles. 

“What happened?” he asked. The energy ball fizzled out.

“Nothing. I was just coming to see if you wanted help warding the house.”

“Uh…sure…?” 

“To be clear, there are already wards on it. This is just to…fortify them.” She shrugged. 

Stiles eyed her suspiciously. “Okay. How do we do that?”

She smiled widely. “I’ll show you.” 

Lucie was an enthusiastic teacher, her magickal energy as bright pink as her jacket; she had three siblings, she explained, which was why she knew how to teach the spells easily.

Wolf watched, but he didn’t seem overly interested in Lucie. He laid on the towel Stiles had brought out and set on the deck, dozing. 

“Where do your siblings live?” Stiles asked, watching her hands so he could copy her movements.

Her fingers fumbled. “Oh, they—they—France.” She shook her head. “My twin brother lives in France with our younger siblings.” 

Stiles didn’t ask. He did offer her a sandwich and some soda before she left, and thanked her for showing him.

“No problem.” She’d shaken her mood off quickly. “Hey, question, have you-”

Before she could finish, Wolf lurched to his feet, snarling fiercely, and a hideous sense of foreboding washed over Stiles. 

“Ugh, what _is_ that?” His neck was prickling and, he realized, his orange energy was flickering over his hands.

Lucie was staring into the trees. “Someone’s doing magick in the woods,” she said softly. She was scanning the area, her eyes flickering. 

“Does it feel like this for you when _I_ do magick?” he asked, horrified.

“No,” she said grimly. “Yours—and mine—is natural magick. Not stolen. This—a human is playing with magick.” And with that, she leapt off the porch and into the woods at a run, so quickly Stiles didn’t understand what’d happened at first. 

Wolf was still growling like an engine. _RAGE_ came through in bold, hot sweeps, left Stiles panting with the force of it.

“C’mon, then,” he said, bolting after her.

No doubt, Wolf could have overtaken him, but he stayed at his side. 

He could see Lucie’s tracks and followed them. The uneasy feeling got worse, made him feel jumpy and almost aggressive. 

The energy flickering across his palms blazed higher, brightening as they caught up to Lucie.

She was panting, staring down at a spatter of blood in the snow at her feet.

“What-” Stiles looked at the blood, a splash of color in the otherwise white and gray forest. He swallowed. “It’s not a lot,” he offered in a high pitched voice.

“Not enough to kill someone,” Lucie said by way of agreement. “They’re using stolen magick and witch blood to perform spells.” She cast her gaze around them, then…then it felt like something brushed over Stiles’s head. “Sorry,” she muttered when he flinched. “Just me.”

His skin was crawling, and the feeling that eyes were on him increased. At his side, Wolf’s rage had transformed to _fear._ He pressed against Stiles’s legs, giving little whimpering growls. _Fear. Fear. Fear._

“I know,” he murmured. “It’s okay.”

Wolf pressed more firmly. _**Fear**_.

Stiles put his hand on his head, rubbing behind his ear soothingly.

Lucie was still looking around, her energy curling out around her like a shield.

Something black blotted across Stiles’s vision, like ink dripped on a picture, and he whipped around, one hand flying up, a bolt of fiery energy lashing through the trees.

It burst against –something—followed by the sound of running footsteps.

Lucie took off. “Call the station! Hit three on the phone!” she shouted, racing after the person.

Wolf ran circles around Stiles all the way back to the house, like a furry shield. 

He called the station and explained as quickly and clearly as he could without brinigng magick into it. Officer Castille had been helping with a repair, Stiles’s dog had heard something and run, and they’d seen blood. 

They were in the woods in less than fifteen minutes. Lucie found them and, practically spitting with fury, told them the person had gotten away.

Wolf paced from the front door to the back, his fur fluffed up so he looked like a young bear.

One of the officers wanted to ask Stiles what he’d seen.

“I’m Lucie’s partner, Officer Donovan,” he said kindly. “Just tell me what happened.” He flicked his fingers at the fireplace absently, sent it crackling. 

Stiles figured that meant to include the real details, magick and familiar included. That was good, since Wolf had sprawled across Stiles’s lap upon Officer Donovan’s entrance, and he didn’t exactly look like a dog. 

After that, the rest of the officers left. Lucie apologized for the home invasion.

“They’re used to this being my place,” she admitted. “Well—hey, by the way. Good shot earlier. You reacted pretty fast.”

Stiles frowned, his hands buried in Wolf’s fur. “Yeah, I don’t know how I sensed them…” 

She smiled. “Magick.” She laughed when he grimaced. “Well, it _is_. Just your magick sensing danger.”

Stiles sighed. “Is there any way you’ll start answering my questions soon?”

She wrinkled her nose. “It _seriously_ goes against tradition, but…” she shrugged. “Maybe sometime soon, okay? Learn a little more, then we’ll chat.” She waved at Wolf and left.

Stiles couldn’t relax. That uneasy feeling had lodged its way under his skin and left him restless, so he cleaned the house top to bottom, gave Wolf a bath—he’d ended up taking off most of his clothes while doing this, because one good shake had soaked him, and it was easier to stand in the bath than outside of it. Wolf was _huge_.

“You look like a drowned rat,” Stiles wheezed, rubbing a towel over Wolf’s head.

He snorted. _Offense, amusement._

Stiles laughed harder, slipping and landing on his ass in the full tub. 

Wolf let out a hacking cough that, with the accompanying sense of amusement, Stiles realized was a laugh.

“Oh, _very_ funny,” he groused. “Hilarious.” He stood up, his boxers dripping. “Ugh. You are vindictive,” he declared, shoving the wet shorts off and crossing the hall quickly to grab some sweats to pull on as he ran back to the bathroom. “Oh, hell no,” he said, blocking the door when Wolf tried to leave.

Wolf gave him a hurt look.

“We’ll keep the disaster zone to the bathroom. Lucie’s probably got a hair dryer somewhere.”

There was one, enormous and red, under the sink, so Stiles set to drying the wet fur ball.

Wolf seemed to enjoy it, opening his mouth wide to yawn a few times.

Once that was done, Stiles tackled the laundry and dinner, and called Scott.

“Hey, man, sorry,” Scott said breathlessly. “I meant to call earlier.”

“Are you okay? Do you need your inhaler?” Stiles demanded, worry pinching his chest.

“My—oh. Ha. No. _Be quiet,_ ” he hissed when someone laughed.

“Are you—busy?”

“ _Yes!_ ” someone else called.

“Am I on speaker?” Stiles asked in a tight, pleasant voice.

“Er, no—yeah. And yes. I’m –doing homework. I’ll call you back.” 

“It’s fine, I’m—gonna be going out.” He cringed and rolled his eyes at himself. “So just—enjoy yourself.”

Scott’s voice was soft. “Okay. Have fun. Call me tomorrow, okay?”

“Sure. Yeah. Enjoy,” he repeated firmly, and hung up.

He and Wolf watched _Mulan_ and _Final Destination_ until they were both yawning.

“C’mon, let’s go up to bed,” he mumbled, nudging Wolf’s ribs gently. 

Upstairs, Stiles swapped his sweatpants for a pair of boxers.

While the house was a little cold, the layers of blankets could get smothering at night, especially combined with Wolf’s body heat. 

_  
The dream started right away this time, no letting him tumble into a nightmare first._

_They were in someone’s yard, which was pushed up against trees. There were toys and sports equipment all over the yard, a huge grill on the patio, and lawn furniture set up around a fire pit._

_The man was smiling, crouched near a fallen bicycle with red spray paint spattered over the front half._

_“This was my youngest brother’s. The one older than him tagged him with spray paint. He was furious.” He stood up and frowned at Stiles. “You’re sad.”_

_“Are you dead?”_

_He blinked. Then he seemed to understand. “This me?” He gestured at himself, drawing Stiles’s attention to his body for the first time. He was wearing jeans and a black t-shirt, no shoes. “No, just cursed. Contained.”_

_“Contained?” Stiles mouthed, but the man was crossing the yard, determined._

_“Why are you sad? Is it your friend?” He grabbed Stiles’s hand._

_“No. How’d you know about that?”_

_The man just stared at him. “I heard you talking…” he said slowly._

_Stiles shook his head._ Ghost, _he reminded himself. “I’m worried about…the thing in the forest today.”_

_The man nodded grimly. “Good. You should be.” His fingers flexed around Stiles’s, then, with surprise, he lifted their hands. He stared with apparent awe at their intertwined fingers. “I can _touch_ you.” He squeezed Stiles’s hand. _

_Stiles squeezed back gently._

_“Looks like it-” He was muffled when he got tackled in a hug, lips brushing across his cheek. “Uh-”_

_“Sorry.” The man stepped back. His cheeks were flushed. “I didn’t realize I could-” He shook his head._

_“That’s okay,” Stiles said slowly. He looked around the yard and sat in one of the chairs._

_The man followed him._

_“Tell me which stuff is yours.”_

_The man’s smile was brilliant._

Stiles woke slowly. Wolf’s nose was pressed to his neck, soft huffs of air ghosting over his nape.

He grunted and rolled out of bed, cursing as his feet hit the cold hardwood.

He grabbed fresh clothes and showered, then, upon catching sight of his reflection, shaved. 

Wolf was downstairs, urgently staring at the door. Stiles left it open while he got breakfast started and finished off the laundry. 

Wolf yipped from outside. Stiles ran out in his socks, and saw him just beyond the edge of the yard, ears pinned back as he stared at the snow.

There was blood in it, smeared in an arc as if someone hadn’t been able to get closer. 

“I’m gonna call Lucie,” Stiles said carefully. “You—you stay close to the house.”

 

It was a shitty way to start the morning. Lucie came with a few other officers, one of which had brought coffee and muffins. Lucie seemed darkly pleased about something, so Stiles had to ask her what it was.

“For one thing, our wards held. For another, blood makes tracking spells much stronger. Whoever’s doing this gave us a better chance, the dumbass.”

She was wearing her uniform, black and official-looking, so when she started muttering under her breath about assigning officers to perform the spells, it was a bit surreal.

One of the other officers had collected the bloodstained snow into an evidence bag, leaving a muddied splotch between the trees. 

“Stay close to the house today,” Lucie said, her hands on her utility belt.

Behind them, Wolf snorted. _Amused._

Stiles made a face at him. “Fine. Can I go into town, or am I really grounded?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, you can go into town, _Stiles_.” She frowned at him then. “But just in case…what do you need from town? I can send someone…”

Stiles threw his hands up. “Laundry soap, dryer sheets, dish soap. Fucking spices.”

She lifted her brows at him, snickered a little. “Okay, calm down. If you’re so adamant, I’ll leave you to it.” She sobered then. “You really do need to be careful. This was either an attempt to get to you or a threat, and either way, you could be in danger. Probably are.”

Wolf growled, and Lucie smirked at him.

“Yeah, I know you’re here, but you can only do so much against someone using magick.” 

Stiles ran his hands through his hair. “Sorry.” He sighed. “I’ll be in town in a few hours.”

Lucie rolled her eyes. “Just be careful.”

“ _Hey,_ do you have time-?” 

“Not today. Soon,” she promised. “I’ll call you when I have time. Just be careful, try more spells. It’ll be quick.” 

Stiles was left with the remaining muffins once they’d cleared out. 

He broke one up and tossed pieces to Wolf, highly amused as he made spectacular catches. Those sharp teeth could nip banana nut muffin out of the air even after the worst of Stiles’s tosses.

The house was spotless, so he couldn’t occupy himself that way. He spent some time in the backyard playing with magick. He managed to make fog spread through the backyard, pushing up against the edges of the wards.

Wolf raced around in it, kicking up mud and snow.

They were both feeling good, relaxed, when a feeling of unease crept over him, like someone had gotten close.

He gave a short whistle, and went inside with Wolf on his heels.

He locked the backdoor and tiptoed to the front of the house. He couldn’t peek out of the window without being seen, if there was someone there. 

Wolf let out a soft _wuff_ ; he was nosing at the book Stiles had left on the couch, the Book of Shadows.

Stiles grabbed it and flipped through. The sentry spell was too difficult, astral projecting required a lot of concentration, which he couldn’t summon when he felt like he was being watched…

_Window spell—draw this symbol and look through_

It wouldn’t let anyone but him see through it. Balancing the book in one hand, he let his energy rise to his hands. Then he drew the symbol on the door, looking back at the book often for reference. 

As soon as he finished the last curve, the section of the door he’d drawn on disappeared, leaving a perfect square of visibility.

He jumped, cursing, but he realized that it wasn’t visible from outside almost immediately. He realized this because Jennifer Blake was standing in the driveway beside her car, which was parked behind the jeep, staring toward the house.

She was wearing only a thin jacket despite the snow catching in her dark hair. Her expression was empty, possibly a little calculating. She wasn’t coming closer to the house or looking at where he was watching her. 

After a moment, she brushed the snow out of her hair and got into her car.

Stiles frowned. “What the fuck was _that?_ ” he muttered. He flipped the page in the book to figure out how to get rid of the window.

“That was creepy,” Stiles muttered, sitting on the couch once he’d finished.

Wolf flopped across his lap, and grunted when Stiles buried his fingers in his fur. “Maybe the laundry soap can wait until tomorrow.” He’d just call Lucie and let her know he was staying in for the night.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo!! Nine! Okay, chapter ten is really what everyone is looking forward to (trust me, it's what everyone is looking forward to) but this is hopefully exciting enough and informative enough that it keeps everyone hooked for ten!! Tell me what you think!! Enjoy!!

Stiles drove into town the next morning. The whole way there, the jeep rattled ominously, and at the half-way mark it sputtered and lurched like it might die.

Luckily, he made it to town and turned into the hardware store, followed the signs around the side of the building to the mechanics place. He put the jeep in park and jumped out, afraid to turn it off. He went inside the garage, picking his way across the floor.

There was a blue sedan of some kind to the far left with its hood up and someone wearing green coveralls elbow deep in its engine.

Stiles looked around for someone working the desk.

“Just me this early,” the person working on the sedan called. “Be with you in a sec!”

“Um, okay. Thanks.” Stiles wandered to the desk and took time to look around.

The garage was fairly neat, the desk organized. There was a greasy wrench sitting across some papers that seemed out of place. 

The mechanic finally emerged, a short, trim person whose face was concealed by the olive green gimme cap they wore.

The nametag on their coveralls read B— Smith, the rest of the first name scratched out with black marker.

“Hi,” the mechanic said, finally looking up. “I’m Smithy.” She smiled.

Stiles grinned and told her his own name.

Smithy rolled hazel eyes. “Yeah, my parents. _Bliss_ , are you kidding? High school was brutal.” She wiped her hands on a stained rag. “So, whatcha got?”

“My jeep is rattling.” He described its behavior on the way there.

She hummed thoughtfully. “Well, pull it in and I’ll have a look. You can hang out if you want, or wander town. Shouldn’t take more than an hour.”

“Cool. I’ll go get it. Thanks.” 

Smithy shooed him off to the diner across the street, telling him she’d just call the diner if she finished before the hour mark.

The diner was maybe half full—Stiles spotted Lucie immediately, talking to a couple who looked stiff and awkward sitting next to each other.

She caught his eye and held up a finger, then looked back at the couple.

Stiles stood to the left of the door awkwardly. A passing waitress asked if he needed any help, so he told her he was waiting for Lucie and she left him alone.

Once the couple was done—they got up and went to a booth with another couple—Lucie stood and waved him over.

“Hey, Stiles. Good morning.”

“Morning.” He sat after she did, feeling awkward.

“I’m off this morning. If you want to eat breakfast with me, I could answer some questions for you.” She smiled, adjusting the pink headband that was holding her curls back.

“That would be great,” Stiles replied, picking up a menu. 

“Good. Hi, Laurel,” she said brightly to the waitress that approached the table. 

“Hey, Luce. Who’s your friend?” she asked, wiggling her eyebrows. 

Lucie laughed. “This is Stiles. He’s renting my old place.” Then Lucie proceeded to order so much food that Stiles assumed she’d ordered for him, too, until Laurel turned to him, pen poised.

He chose a meal from the menu at random and hot chocolate to drink.

“So, questions?” Lucie prompted.

“Okay, first of all—what was _in_ that jar I broke? How did it give me magick?” 

She stared at him. “It didn’t _give_ you magick. You already _had_ magick. Dormant magick, sure, but it was there. As for the jar, well, it had my father’s magick in it. That’s what activated _your_ magick.” 

Stiles frowned at her. “I didn’t have magick. I’ve never done anything magickal before.”

“It was dormant,” she repeated. “It’s not unusual.”

Stiles fiddled with a napkin, slowly shredding it. “My dad—he didn’t have magick either.”

Lucie smiled. “It could have been dormant for a few generations. Could have been from your mom. But it _was_ already there.” 

Stiles took a deep breath. “Okay. After I broke that jar, a box of stuff appeared. Nadia and Andre Castille’s Book of Shadows was in it?”

She smiled again, sadly. “That was my parents’ shared BoS. Sort of a record of their homemade spells and potions and stuff.” 

Stiles nodded. “There’s also the grimoires?” he asked.

“Yes? They’re supposed to help you, guide you.”

“It says that once I get the feeling for the magick, I won’t have to perform the spell?”

“That is correct. You’ll still need your hands, but-” she waved her hand, a breeze brushing over their table. “It gets easier once you learn some more.”

Laurel brought their drinks and asked if they needed anything before their food was done.

“So,” Lucie said, leaning her chin on her hands. “Tell me about your familiar? What’s his name?”

“I didn’t give him a name,” Stiles mumbled. “It felt weird to name him. I don’t know.” He picked at his thumbnail. “I keep having these dreams,” he said to distract her. He told her about the dark-haired man, leaving out the details of their conversations. “He keeps saying he’s cursed, but is it possible he’s, you know, a ghost?”

For some reason, Stiles hadn’t really thought about the fact that if the man was a ghost, he was obviously _dead_. Bonding with him as Stiles had been was foolish. 

Lucie was staring intensely at him. “It’s _possible_ , I guess. But the ghosts I’ve met have always shown themselves.” 

“Well-” Stiles grimaced. “If he’s not a ghost, then who the hell is invading my dreams?” For some reason, the idea of a living person witnessing his nightmares, communicating with his less-guarded sleeping mind, was a lot more uncomfortable than the idea of a ghost doing it.

Lucie frowned at the table. “I’m not sure. You can block him, if you want. There are spells, potions.”

He wasn’t sure he wanted to block the man from his dreams. He felt…sort of invaded, but he also didn’t want to stop talking to the man. He was conflicted.

“Describe him to me,” Lucie said after a long moment of silence. “Maybe he’s a local.”

“Okay. Well, he has short dark hair and, like, perma-stubble. Um, my height, built. Twenty-five, he said. Sort of green-blue-hazel eyes?” Stiles squinted, trying to remember, while Lucie snorted. 

Lucie shook her head. “Doesn’t sound familiar, but I’ll keep an eye out.” She tapped her fingers. “Does he interact with you?”

“Yeah. When I’m having a nightmare, he’ll-” Stiles paused when Laurel brought their food, waited until she was done setting it out. “He’ll pull me out of it and into some…place.”

“Where?” 

Stiles shrugged. “Different places. He said the room was his old bedroom in the first dream. Just…different places he knows.”

“And places you haven’t been before?”

“Obviously,” he snorted. “I haven’t been in his bedroom.”

Lucie threw a straw wrapper at him. “Nowhere you’ve _ever_ been? In any of the dreams?”

Stiles shook his head. “Most places are like—his room, his backyard, his parents’ kitchen.” 

Lucie hummed. “And he can’t tell you who he is?”

“Every time he starts to talk about himself, he disappears and I wake up.” Stiles crunched on some bacon.

They were silent for a few minutes, eating and thinking. Lucie ate like a python, Stiles observed—unhinging her jaw and swallowing her prey whole. 

The thought made him smirk while he ate his waffle.

“Well,” she said abruptly, swallowing some pancake, “if you’re communicating with him, maybe you can ask him not to invade your dreams?” 

Stiles swallowed thickly. “Yeah, I could. I’ll try it.” He wasn’t sure if he wanted the dreams to stop, if that was the only way he could talk to the man at all.

She nodded thoughtfully. “How’s, er…the wolf?”

“He’s good. We’re getting used to each other.” Stiles smiled suddenly. “He loves to be touched, like _all the time._ ”

Lucie’s eyes dimmed. “I bet,” she said brightly, though she didn’t look happy. “Do you have any other questions?”

“ _Yes_. How many people here are…like…us?” 

“Probably half the town.” She wiped her mouth. “This used to be a wholly witch town, actually, a sort of safe haven. Then people stopped hunting witches, we relaxed, and humans started moving in.” She shrugged.

Stiles nodded and picked at his food. “And the kids that are missing…?”

“Are witch-children, yes.” Her face got hard. “There’s a human using magick. They need magickal blood to do it.”

“Ew.” Stiles tapped his fork against his half-finished plate. “So, those kids…nine years ago…”

Lucie grimaced. “Unfortunately, it’s probably the same person. I was nineteen at the time, so I wasn’t involved in the investigation.” She glared at the table. “This time, we’re going to catch them.”

Stiles pushed his unfinished plate away. “I hope so.”

Silence settled over them, filled only by the chatter of the other patrons.

Some of them were glaring at Stiles rather fiercely, once he stopped to pay attention.

“I should check on my car,” he said at last.

Lucie frowned. “What? Why?”

He explained, finishing with, “And I left it at the garage with Smithy.”

Lucie laughed a little. “Well, okay. I’ll walk with you.”

After they’d paid—Laurel gave them a discount, so Stiles tipped more than he normally would have—Lucie walked with him through the snow.

“Bliss runs the garage, her sister manages the hardware store, and their father the gas station. Close-knit family. Bliss—er, Smithy,” she corrected with a grin, “she and her sister fought over who got to manage the garage. Ser is much better with sales, and Smithy is great at tinkering.” 

“Ser?” He had a feeling it wasn’t short for Sarah.

Lucie giggled. “Bliss and Serenity. Their youngest sister is Felicity.” 

Stiles laughed. “Mine’s not any better,” he admitted. “At least you can pronounce theirs.” 

As they approached the garage, the sound of cursing had them looking at each other in alarm, then bolting in.

The only visible part of Smithy was one doll-like work boot, as she’d crawled under the hood and was cursing a blue streak.

“Smithy? You okay?” Lucie called, jogging over to her.

“Yeah,” came the muffled reply. “Fucking son of a bitching bastard,” she snarled, and came tumbling out of the jeep as if she’d been shoved, her cap knocked loose. She had pixie cut brown hair. She blew sweaty bangs out of her eyes and got to her feet. “ _Magick,_ ” she spat, holding up a burned hand. “Some— _witch_ tampered with your jeep.” 

Stiles gaped at her, but she didn’t stay put long.

She and Lucie were both under the hood, talking rapidly.

“It’s a designer spell,” Smithy was saying. “I can’t find the point of origin or sense who did it. It’s strong, too,” she added grudgingly. 

“Stiles,” Lucie said, straightening. “Did anyone bother you today? Come to the house?”

He cringed. “Well—no. Not today. But yesterday, Jennifer Blake came by.” He told her about Jennifer’s odd behavior.

“She didn’t approach the house, though?” Lucie asked sharply.

“No, she just stared.” He heard Smithy shout triumphantly from where she’d crawled under the car, her tiny boots scrabbling as she emerged. 

“She couldn’t get past the wards…” Lucie’s expression was distant, thoughtful. 

Smithy approached with something in her hand. “Blood magick,” she said in disgust. She held out a bloodied burlap sachet. 

Lucie took it, her face dark. “Check the car for more, please. Stiles, you should go back to the house when she’s done. The wards will keep you safe.”

“The drive there,” Smithy reminded her sharply. 

“You think the librarian is killing people?” Stiles asked blankly. 

“In case she is, I want you to go home while my officers go to her house and the library,” Lucie said.

“If she’s a witch-” Stiles began, his hear clenching. The idea of her officers in danger reminded him of his dad.

“She’s not,” Smithy said. “That’s the issue.” She clapped a grease-stained hand on Stiles’s shoulder. “All River’s End officers are well-prepared for magick, though. Right, Lucie?”

Lucie nodded, walking away from them. She was holding a phone and barking orders into it.

Smithy stomped to the car. “Let’s get this guy checked out and shielded.” She hummed thoughtfully and began searching it for more evidence of tampering.

Once she was satisfied, she slammed the hood and put her hands flat on it.

A greenish ripple went over the jeep.

“That should get you safely home,” she said cheerfully.

“So, you’re a-”

“Also a witch, yes.” Smithy waved him over to the register. “Since there wasn’t really anything to do, I’ll only charge for the oil change I did.” She frowned sternly at him. “That thing needs more attention, Mr. Stilinski. You can't expect it to run in good condition forever.” 

Stiles swiped his debit card. “I will take care of it,” he said, shoulders hunching. “It’s been a bad few months.”

Her face softened. “I can tell. Welp. Once Lucie gives you the go ahead, you’re all set. Bring it back if anything else happens.”

“Thanks, I will.” 

Lucie wanted to go with the other officers to Jennifer Blake’s house. “Not that we know for sure she did it,” she added. “She moved here recently and has never been in trouble. It’s possible that whoever’s kidnapping the kids is some local and you saw Jennifer changing her mind about visiting you.” Lucie tugged at her curls. “Has she ever done anything strange? Other than yesterday?” 

“N—well, wait. She had Alice—the girl who volunteered at the library bring me a book…it was like _History of River’s End_ or something but inside, the title page said _Blood Magick_.” 

Lucie gaped. “Why would she—? That’s like _trying_ to incriminate herself?” She looked at Smithy, who looked just as stunned.

“She said kids sometimes switch covers. I don’t know.” Stiles hunched his shoulders against their shocked stares.

“Unless she’s really dumb, or thinks you’re really dumb, she probably isn’t at fault,” Lucie said thoughtfully. “Or else why show you that book? You were bound to tell someone.”

Smithy nodded. “He’s all set, Lucie. Whenever he’s free to go…”

Lucie blinked and shook her head. “Right. You can go, but seriously, it’s for your own good to stay in the wards.”

Stiles nodded blankly. He stumbled toward the jeep and got in, but before he could leave, a man with bright red hair came in the garage. 

His face was tense. “Bliss, have you seen Felicity?” he rasped. “Ser hasn’t seen her all morning.”

Smithy shook her head, face draining of color. “Did—did you call her friends?” 

“A couple. They haven’t seen her either. She’s not answering her phone.”

Lucie swore. “Go to the police station. Stiles, go home.”

The man whipped around. He yanked a pad a paper out of his pocket and jotted his number down. “You live in Lucie’s old place? In the woods? If you see my daughter, you call me.” He held the number out.

Stiles took it. “Yeah. Of course.”

“Lance,” Lucie said sharply. “Station. Hurry.”

Stiles left, too. There wasn’t anything for him to do there. On the drive, though, he kept an eye out for…anyone. He didn’t know what the girl looked like, but he assumed not many people would be wandering the woods. 

He got to the house uninterrupted. 

Wolf, who didn’t like being stuck in the house while Stiles was out, was sitting on the porch, his body stiff. 

“Did anyone come by?” Stiles asked, jiggling his keys.

_No._

“Let’s get inside then. Maybe we’ll go out back and try a locator spell in a while.” 

Wolf followed at his side. Automatically, Stiles dropped a hand on his head. 

He babbled about what had happened, pacing the living room.

“Maybe it’s nothing,” Stiles said finally. He scratched behind Wolf’s ears while he peered out the back window. “Well. Let’s go outside.”

He grabbed the grimoire on his way out, flipping through the pages for the locator spell. It was fairly complicated.

A sudden outpouring of fury, followed by chainsaw growls, had Stiles’s head snapping up.

Wolf’s fur was standing straight up, doubling him in size. His teeth were bared and gleaming.

“What-” That sense of unnaturalness washed over him, of something _wrong_. 

Wolf snarled, and someone let out an ear-piercing scream.

They started running at the same time.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sick right now. So, so sick. Cheer me up and tell me what you think of this chapter, please!

The woods felt…sinister. They were the same as they’d always been, but it felt as if something was hunting them as they ran.

Wolf kept pausing to sniff the air and follow whatever scent he’d caught, subtly changing their direction as he did.

Stiles’s foot caught an exposed root, his other boot sliding through the slick snow as he tried to balance himself and sending him to the ground. His palms skidded across the ground, his skin ripping open. 

Wolf paused, took a step back towards Stiles, then away. _Hurt?_

Stiles got up and looked at his hands; he’d ground up his palms pretty well, as blood began running down his wrists.

Swallowing, he pressed his hands against his legs. “Come on. Slowly,” he added. For some reason, his voice came out in a whisper.

They crept along the woods, Stiles’s bleeding palms leaving warm, wet spots on his jeans, which he was 100% throwing away. 

Wolf’s anxiety was spiking with every step, along with this incredible anger, but Stiles couldn’t understand the reason behind those emotions. 

It seemed to get darker the further they walked, though it could only be about noon at the latest. The trees weren’t any thicker. It was just as if something was sucking the light and color out of everything. 

_Fear._

Stiles paused, looking down at Wolf. He’d frozen, ears pinned, teeth bared. His side was pressed against Stiles’s leg. 

There hadn’t been any physical change in their surroundings. No new scenery. Just trees and snow and brush. 

“What’s the ma-” Something knocked into him, throwing him to the ground. 

“That’s—supposed—to—be—mine,” someone snarled, a foot connecting with his stomach and throwing him into a tree.

He looked up, wheezing and stunned, to see Jennifer Blake, looking furious and deranged.

“That magick doesn’t belong to you.”

Stiles lifted a hand to defend himself, energy flaring weakly along his cut palms.

Jennifer glowered at him. “Put that down,” she snapped. “You’re nothing compared to me.”

Wolf snarled loudly, drawing her attention. Stiles scrambled to his feet, using the tree she’d flung him against to lever himself up. 

She _smiled_. “Oh, have you made a friend? Does he know what you are?”

The growling cut off. Wolf’s head swiveled toward Stiles, tail lowering. 

Jennifer laughed. “Oh, right, you can’t, can you?” She giggled. 

“When you’re done talking to the wild animal,” Stiles said loudly, but he wasn’t sure where to go from there. He’d just gotten his breath back and was trying to think of any spell that could help him. 

“He’s an animal, alright. Maybe not _wild_.” She looked at Stiles, her face growing dark. “That’s supposed to be _my_ magick.” 

“I didn’t take it!” he snapped. “Lucie said-”

“I don’t care! I was _born_ here! I should have had magick! You! You’re just an outsider!” A bolt of gray-white energy shot from her hands. 

Stiles flicked his fingers—his own bright orange energy intercepted hers. 

She pressed her lips together. “I can just take it.” She reached into her purse and pulled out-

“Oh my god. _Oh my god._ Is that _blood?_ ” 

It was a Ziplock baggie of blood.

Ignoring him, Jennifer dipped her hands in, coating them until there were only drops left in the bag. 

Stiles, swallowing back a gag, sidled away from the tree and recalled the elemental spells. He couldn’t remember the one for fire, but it didn’t seem to matter—adrenaline apparently sped up the magickal learning process, because flames burst into being in his hands. 

Jennifer dropped her baggie and lifted her dripping hands. 

Before he could consider defending himself, she threw him off his feet again, more powerfully this time. His head smacked into a rock, dazing him.

He lay stunned for a moment, unable to think of a way to protect himself when the back of his head was throbbing. 

He could feel Wolf’s fear and anger intensifying, but he wanted him to stay away from Jennifer. It was the idea that he might get hurt that had Stiles struggling to sit up.

“My magick,” she said quietly, stepping over him. She made some fluid motion with her bloodied hand and Stiles’s jacket and shirts ripped open, exposing his chest to the cold air. “You picked up my Book of Shadows at the library,” she said conversationally. “It’s private. You shouldn’t touch another witch’s Book of Shadows.” She stepped on his right hand to keep it pinned, extinguishing the weak flame that had sputtered there. 

A guttural growl exploded from behind her, and Wolf tackled her, his teeth snapping at her neck. Downy fluff caught the air from where his teeth tore into her jacket. 

She shrieked in rage, rolling and clawing her way away. “ _Derek_ ,” she spat, flinging Wolf off her.

Stiles got to his feet dizzily, swaying in place and lifting his hands defensively. 

She grinned at him, blood dripping down her chin from where she’d bit her lip. “Wanna see who you’ve had in your home?” she asked sweetly. 

Wolf was backing away from her, shaking his head and whining. 

“Stop it,” Stiles snapped. 

When she flicked her hand at Wolf, Stiles threw a handful of fire at her. It hit her sleeve and caught, making her yelp.

While she was putting her jacket out, Stiles turned to help Wolf.

Except he was gone. In his place was a naked bearded man with long wild hair and grim, glowing blue eyes. 

“Stiles,” he rasped pleadingly.

Stiles stepped back, horror slowly seeping through him.

Jennifer grabbed his arm, yanking him off balance, and smacked her free hand against his chest, smearing it with tacky blood that burned. “See what’s been in your bed? Watching you sleep? Watching you change?” Her nails bit in, and a sudden sucking sensation made his eyes droop. 

“No,” the man growled. His muscles bunched to leap.

Before he reached them, however, Jennifer jerked and squealed in pain, releasing him abruptly. 

Stiles’s eyes sprang open. Feeling returned. He stumbled away, frantically trying to perform the shield spell.

Lucie and a few other cops were racing toward them. None of the officers had their guns drawn, but all of them had hands lifted to cast. 

Jennifer’s face darkened again, and she flung her hands out.

The force of her magick blew Stiles back on the ground; he heard the cops shouting as they slammed into trees. Someone helped Stiles sit up a confused moment later.

When he looked, it was the man who’d been Wolf.

Stiles scrambled away, gasping.

Hurt and concern waved from the man, who Stiles was apparently still sharing a psychic bond with.

“Stiles,” he said again. “I couldn’t _tell_ you.” 

“I don’t understand.”

“Where the _hell_ did she go?” Lucie’s voice suddenly broke through Stiles’s shock. “You look over there! Be careful!” She sounded furious as she stomped toward them. “Are you alright, Stiles? Who’re you?” she barked.

When he looked up, his eyes glowing blue again, she gasped.

“Oh goddess. You’re okay! Did she take the curse off? Can you go back to your pack?”

“I don’t think so. She wanted to scare Stiles, make him distracted enough that she could take his magick.” He didn’t seem to notice that he was completely naked.

Lucie didn’t either. “What’s your name? I can try to contact your pack.” 

He shook his head. “Derek Hale. You can try. I think the curse will prevent it.”

Stiles held up his hands. “Derek _Hale?_ Are you, by any chance, from Beacon Hills?”

Derek stared at him. “Yes.”

Stiles laughed. He wasn’t sure what he was laughing at, just that he couldn’t stop. “You’re a _Hale._ ” He kept laughing until he started to wheeze as badly as Scott without his inhaler.

Lucie grabbed his hand, and a sudden calm settled over him. “Derek here is a werewolf,” she said soothingly. “He was cursed and stuck here.”

“A _werewolf_?” 

“The rest of my family is, too,” Derek said helpfully. 

“The rest of-” Stiles gaped. “But—But _Scott’s_ over there! What if they –they—?”

A sharp feeling of hurt came through the bond, followed closely by offense and irritation.

“Hey,” Lucie said sharply. “They’re people, too. If…Scott? Is over at their den, surely he’s their friend and guest.”

“He is. He’s been hanging out with my younger sister Cora and some other friends, I guess.” Derek looked sad.

Stiles was still confused. “How…?”

Derek glanced at him somewhat fearfully. “I heard her when you were on the phone with Scott.” 

Stiles opened and closed his mouth a couple times. Finally, he said, “Oh,” and shuddered a little.

“I’m _sorry_ ,” Derek blurted. “I didn’t mean—I thought I’d be stuck as a wolf _forever_. So—and part of the curse was _silence_. I couldn’t talk about it, even when we were dreaming.”

“We—we?” Stiles choked. “Oh my god.” He covered his face.

“I’m _sorry_ ,” Derek repeated in a soft, shaking voice. 

“Okay, enough. We’ll talk about this when we’re safe.” Lucie gave Stiles a light shove. “Go with a couple of officers back to the house. We’re going to search the area.”

An officer found a pair of sweats in his trunk and gave them to Derek, who pulled them on quickly. Then a second officer joined them and walked them back to the house.

Stiles kept glancing at Derek, who looked sort of like if Hagrid from the Harry Potter books had been shrunk to the size of a normal man. The wild beard and hair made it difficult to connect him to the guy he’d been dreaming about—with?—for almost two months. 

When Derek looked at him, though, his eyes were the same, if a little sad.

Stiles faced forward again.

The officers—Officers Donovan and Sato—came inside with Stiles and Derek, their hands glowing. Officer Sato silently went to the front of the house and got a fire started. 

“Does anyone have a pair of clippers?” Derek asked. He hadn’t come further into the house since walking in the door, his bare feet dripping blood and muddy snow all over the linoleum. 

“I have some,” Stiles said. He was staring at Derek’s feet. “Come on. We should—clean those.”

“They’ll heal,” Derek replied.

Before Stiles could say _but infection_ , the cuts did just that—sealed up as if they’d never been there.

“Well. Okay.” Stiles turn and left the kitchen. He heard Officer Donovan gently prompt Derek to follow him. He kept going, upstairs to his bathroom. 

Derek came in seconds later. “Can you help me?” he asked quietly. He looked embarrassed. “Last time I was human, I wasn’t exactly growing a beard. Not like this.” His gaze stayed low. 

“You’ve seen me shave,” Stiles said shortly. “I don’t get that much hair either.” 

Derek nodded, keeping his gaze down.

Stiles sighed. “Sit over there. I’ll get some towels.”

It took nearly an hour to first hack off the excess hair, which was knotted badly, then shave off what Derek wanted gone.

In the end, he looked more like Dream Derek, though not identical.

For instance, Real Life Derek had wanted his face clean shaven, which left him looking very young. And attractive.

He’d cropped his hair short, too, and when they were done, he shyly asked to use the shower.

“Sure.” Stiles hesitated, then said, “I’ll grab some clothes for you, but I doubt it’ll be a perfect fit.” 

“Thank you, Stiles.”

They stared at each other for a moment.

Stiles cleared his throat and looked away first, stepping out of the bathroom into his room. 

He grabbed some sweats and his biggest t-shirt, along with a pair of socks. 

Derek was looking at himself curiously in the mirror when Stiles returned. 

“It’s been nine years, right?” Stiles asked awkwardly. He set the clothes on the counter, then wished he hadn’t, so he could have something to do with his hands. 

“Yes.” He tipped his head left, then right, forward, then back. He looked a little amazed. “I kind of look like my dad.” His face dropped as he said it. “After I explain…everything, can I call my family?”

Stiles hissed through his teeth. “God, dude. I feel a little violated but I’m not a _dick_. You don’t have to trade information for a phone call.” 

The pathetically grateful look on Derek’s face made Stiles feel about two inches tall. “Thank you. I can tell you what happened first, though. I can do that.”

“Great. If you want. I’ll just—you shower. I’ll be downstairs when you’re done.”

Derek smiled at him, that wide, brilliant grin.

Stiles narrowly missed walking into the doorjamb on his way out.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who commented and wished me well. :D I'm feeling a bit better--I can kind of speak today!!--and I almost posted 11 last night out of excitement. Here's Derek's story...Hope you enjoy!!

Officer Donovan had left the kitchen to stand guard on the back deck. 

Stiles found Officer Sato in the front of the house, watching out the window.

“Um.”

“We’ll leave once Lucie gets back with the others,” she said, turning to face him. “She’ll want to stay to sort out the, er, werewolf.” She looked awkward for a moment. “It _was_ Jennifer Blake, then? We didn’t get a good look before she used her stolen magick to attack us.” Her voice was bitter. 

“Yeah, it was her.”

Sato pursed her lips. “She cleared out her house. Completely empty.” She tapped glowing blue fingers against her own arm. “You don’t know if she’d been living somewhere else, do you?”

Stiles shook his head. 

“Thought not.” She sighed. “The others are back.” With that, she strode across the living room to the kitchen, where Lucie had apparently come into the house.

Stiles followed at a distance; by the time he’d gotten there, Lucie was the only one in the kitchen. 

She looked frustrated. “We don’t know where she went. She’s using dark magick to conceal herself.” She muttered under her breath for a second. Then, with an angry hiss, she seemed to let out her anger. “Okay. Where’s Derek?” She looked around. “You didn’t-”

“He’s taking a shower,” Stiles snapped, crossing his arms. “I think I can stop myself from being a complete dick even when I feel like—like I’ve been _spied on_.” 

She held her hands up. “You were upset. I assumed you might still be upset.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? I thought there was an animal in my house, not a guy _sleeping in my bed with me._ ” 

“I couldn’t tell you.” Lucie frowned at him. “What, “you have a werewolf in your backyard”? Plus, the spell—the curse, it demands silence. Not just from him. As long as he was a wolf, we couldn’t speak of it.”

“So how’d you know he was a werewolf, then?” Stiles demanded.

“His eyes. Obviously, normal wolves’ eyes don’t glow. He was also pretty intelligent and social for a wolf. He reacted to what we were saying.”

Stiles nodded, fidgeting with the coffee maker. 

Lucie sighed. “Did he say what he wanted to do?”

“Explain what happened, try to call his parents.” Stiles shrugged. “I told him he could call them first, but he said he wanted to explain.” 

“Well, alright.” She ran a hand through her hair. She looked very pale, the usual warm, pretty umber of her skin looking grayish and washed out. “Do you mind if I make a cup of coffee?”

“No, go ahead. Uh, coffee’s above the sink.” Stiles stepped back and sat at the table, only to jump back up when Derek crept into the room.

He was moving like a prey animal that sensed a predator, carefully and close to the wall.

Stiles, feeling stupid for leaping up, lowered himself carefully back to his seat. 

Derek’s hair was still dripping onto the shirt Stiles had given him, which was a little too tight. He offered a small, nervous smile. “I borrowed some toothpaste,” he admitted.

“That’s fine.” Stiles looked at Lucie, who was fiddling with the coffee maker. 

“How are you feeling?” she asked gently.

Derek shrugged. “Shocked. Guilty.” He glanced toward Stiles, then away.

“I get that you couldn’t tell me,” Stiles said slowly. “When I—we were dreaming, you’d disappear every time you started to say anything about yourself. I remember, I just…it’s just…weird. This is all very weird.” He traced an old ring on the table with his fingertip, avoiding their gazes. 

“See?” Lucie said brightly. “Now, how about some coffee?”

Derek’s nose crinkled and Stiles died a little. “No, thank you. But…a cup of water would be nice?” He glanced at Stiles again, as if for permission, but Lucie was already making him a cup.

“There.” She sat down at the table, wrapping her hands around her mug.

Stiles didn’t realize he’d been staring at Derek until Derek’s face began flushing, and the desperate urge to escape washed through them.

Stiles quickly averted his gaze.

Derek finished his cup of water and crunched loudly at a piece of ice. He seemed fidgety, with nerves sparking through the bond.

“We can do this later,” Stiles said at the same time Derek blurted, “It was when-” They both stopped and stared at each other. 

Derek smiled faintly. “I was seventeen. My girlfriend Paige wanted to come to River’s End.” He looked at the table. “She was born here, and when she started showing signs of having magick, her mom suggested coming here to learn. She asked me to come with her.” He stared into his cup. “Jennifer-” He made a face. “She offered to help teach her, so she agreed. No one told us she was supposed to learn on her own. Kids started disappearing. She was killing them,” he said quietly. “She kept Paige and me in the woods. Paige started getting really weak. Jennifer was syphoning her magick instead of teaching her.” 

Lucie gasped, but Stiles didn’t understand.

“So she—took it away?”

“ _Ripped_ it away.” Derek’s face went white. “Right as Paige was realizing what was happening, she just tore it away.” He swallowed thickly.

“Did she die?” Lucie whispered.

“Almost.” He tried to drink from his empty cup, then just stared at it.

Stiles got up and refilled it for him, receiving a shaky smile of gratitude in return.

“She was dying,” Derek continued once he’d taken a drink. “The others, she just sedated them and used their blood to do magick until they died. But with Paige, she took the magick _from_ her. We ran, obviously, but Paige couldn’t go far.”

Horror was roiling in the bond, but Stiles wasn’t sure who it was coming from. Visions danced through, too, of a dark-haired girl with blood and a gentle smile on her lips. 

“What happened?” Lucie asked quietly.

Derek gulped more water. “She was _suffering_ ,” he said in a raw, broken voice, while Stiles watched the memory unfolded like watching a movie.

The dying girl urgently gripped Derek’s arm—Stiles saw it from Derek’s point of view—and spoke, blood flecking her lips. She shuddered and cried out.

Stiles couldn’t hear anything.

He flinched when Derek broke her neck.

“—asked me to finish it,” Derek was saying softly. He cleared his throat and wiped his face. “After, Jennifer—I guess taking Paige’s magick didn’t mean Jennifer got it, because she came to try again, only—well. And she got furious that Paige was…dead.” He shrugged. “Then she cursed me and I haven’t gotten to leave the woods since. I tried to help your sister,” he added quietly to Lucie.

Lucie looked away. “And since then…you haven’t transformed or spoken to anyone?”

He nodded. “Pretty much. She left me here, so I just…got used to living as a wolf. I heard Stiles laughing,” he added with a little smile. “When he was practicing magick in the woods. And then I smelled him cooking, too…”

Stiles scrubbed his hand through his hair, cringing when his hand slid over the bump from hitting his head. His hair was stiff with dried blood, too, which wasn’t good, probably.

Lucie was looking at her hands. 

“Do you want to call your parents now?” Stiles asked when it seemed like they were going to slip into an ongoing silence. 

Hope and fear warred in the bond, while Derek’s face just lit.

“Yes, please.”

Stiles stood to get the phone and Derek followed him.

“ _Can you dial for me?”_

Stiles jumped. “What?” he demanded, turning.

“What?” Derek looked surprised. Then, ‘ _Don’t make me dial._ ’

“You just-” he hesitated. It was definitely Derek’s voice. …

Derek’s eyes widened. ‘ _Can you hear me?_ ’

Stiles nodded, making Derek flush.

“Sorry,” he said gruffly, holding his hand out for the phone. His fingers shook a little.

“Just tell me the number. I can dial.”

Derek complied and only took the phone when it started ringing. He stood close enough to Stiles that he could hear it when a woman answered.

“Hello?”

“Mom,” Derek croaked. “Mom, it’s—me. Derek. I-”

“Hello?” the voice was almost impatient now. “Are you going to answer?”

Derek looked broken.

Stiles took the phone. “Sorry, I’m here.”

“Oh.” She still sounded annoyed. “And who is this?”

“Um, I’m Stiles Stilinski. Is this Mrs. Hale?”

A beat, then, “Yes. You’re Scott’s friend, aren’t you? Are you alright?”

“Yes, actually. I was calling to tell you that your son is right here. Derek Hale? He’s alive and he tried-”

“Tell me what?” Mrs. Hale demanded. “Stiles?”

“It’s the curse,” Derek said dully.

“To tell you, um,” Stiles floundered. “Um, that I’m…a…witch,” he said haltingly. 

Mrs. Hale was silent.

“I’ve been learning magick in River’s End? And I know you’re werewolves.”

Derek’s eyes went enormous, and Lucie jumped to her feet. “No,” Derek said in anguish. “It sounds like-”

“Are you threatening me?” she sounded half-appalled and half-amused. 

“Oh, god,” Stiles groaned. “No, of course not!” 

“I _told_ Scott not to tell you until you returned,” she went on with a sigh.

“I wasn’t—what? Scott?” Stiles shook his head. “Never mind. I didn’t mean to make it sound like a threat. There’s—there’s…River’s End is really, um…” He looked to Derek and Lucie for help; they just stared back. “Scenic,” he finished lamely. “You—you should come visit,” he squeaked.

“Uh- _huh_. I’ll have Scott call you when he gets back, Mr. Stilinski.” She hung up.

“Sorry,” Stiles muttered. “I wasn’t sure what to say that didn’t include you…”

“There wasn’t much you could do,” Derek said. “Not if the curse prevents us from telling her.”

Lucie looked thoughtful. “So maybe you can tell someone who isn’t pack? Or maybe who isn’t Alpha?”

“Try Laura,” Derek gasped, suddenly flooded with hope. “My older sister.”

But the number Derek vaguely recalled for her was out of service, and the same thing went for his older brother, Markus.

Derek began to look more and more beat down each time they tried.

“Hey,” Stiles said slowly, “she said she told Scott not to tell me—but does that mean Scott _knows?_ ” 

Derek frowned, distracted. “It sounded like it. But why would Scott know?” 

“I don’t know.” He wanted to find out. Unfortunately, both times he called Scott’s cell went to voicemail.

“My mom is probably lecturing him,” Derek said thoughtfully. 

“Why would she be doing that?”

Derek looked at him. “I’m not sure.” 

Lucie tapped her fingers. “I have to go back into town. Derek, I’ll try calling your pack from the station, maybe that’ll help. Do you want to come with?”

He did, and he tried. Halfway there, apparently, he got sick.

Stiles, who’d watched them leave from the porch, saw Lucie drive him back. This time, he felt the unbearable nausea Derek felt. 

“Curse won’t let him leave,” Lucie explained tersely. “I’ll call them,” she promised as Derek got out of her truck.

He nodded and didn’t move as she pulled off. He was holding very still.

Stiles felt a confused mix of emotions from him, and couldn’t quite pinpoint anything of importance. 

“Derek? Want to eat?”

Derek looked up, his face cold and empty, his eyes blank.

Stiles forced a smile. “You can help me cook this time. And choose what to eat.” 

A slow smile broke the ice on Derek’s face, small but grateful. “Okay.”

Stiles found himself hugely relieved that Derek hadn’t just disappeared. Maybe now they could get to know each other as…people, while they were stuck in the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PS-- I'm almost done handwriting this!! The day I finish the handwritten version, I'm posting a chapter, whether it's time to or not! 
> 
> Because after this is done I have another fic idea I want to work on and I'm too excited to wait too long!!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is all so very exciting. In other news, er, this chapter is...unbeta'd. My beta never answered this chapter or any messages after that...so from here on out, they're not beta'd. My grammar and spelling is usually fine. She just tells me how it's fitting together, as I have a habit of going off on side trips mid-story. So...er...sorry about that if there's a problem.

The first night was somewhat awkward, as Derek was used to sleeping in the bed with Stiles, and Stiles was used to Wolf being there. Stiles showed Derek the extra bedroom and left him to get acquainted with it.

“Why are there bricks?”

Stiles closed his eyes and shook his head, continuing to his own room to change into pajamas. 

He went back in the hallway, and found Derek there, fish tank and soil in his hands.

“Did you think it was going to attack you?” he asked, lips twitching. 

Stiles sighed. “It could have,” he said, pouting.

Derek laughed and set the tank back in the room. “Thank you for letting me stay here,” he said earnestly.

Stiles shook his head. “I must come across as a terrible person,” he mused.

“No. Just a very confused and upset one.” Derek yawned. “I think I’m going to sleep.”

“Okay. Goodnight.” He smiled sleepily as he went to his room.

Stiles retreated to his own room after a moment, too. 

_The nightmare started differently this time. Stiles was in the hospital, staring into his father’s empty room, and he couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, just stood there. He stared into the empty room, at the empty bed, and felt cold._

_Before the building horror could crest, though, the dream changed._

_He was so used to it that he barely reacted._

_Dream Derek looked like real-life Derek now._

_They were now somewhere Stiles recognized—just outside the preserve in Beacon Hills._

_Derek seemed comfortable, seated in the grass and running his fingers over it. “Sorry,” he said easily. “You were having a nightmare. I think it’s habit now.”_

_The stiff awkwardness that had settled between them in their waking hours seemed nonexistent here._

_“That’s okay. This is better than a nightmare.”_

_Derek nodded. “We live there,” he said conversationally. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “We liked to run there on the full moons.”_

_Stiles paced._

_Derek watched him, calm as anything, much less awkward than he was in the real world. “Tell me why you keep having that nightmare.”_

_Stiles snorted. “It wasn’t the same one. But it’s the same thing, I guess. I keep dreaming that my dad…that he died while I was away.”_

_“Because you feel guilty for leaving?”_

_Stiles nodded wearily._

 

The next morning, Lucie arrived promptly at seven AM, carting a box full of bags. She seemed to be determinedly cheerful, letting herself in and calling out for them. 

When Stiles got downstairs, she was making Derek try on clothes. A bulk package of toothbrushes lay on top of a box of toothpaste and beside some mouthwash. 

“And don’t worry, I charged it to the town,” she was saying. She grimaced. “Mayor Walsh might kill me but you needed stuff.” 

“Thank you.” Derek looked toward Stiles as he was hitching a pair of jeans over his hips. “Hi.”

Lucie beamed. “Good morning. Let’s eat. You’re going to get a magick lesson.” 

“Really? Finally.” 

Lucie scowled at him. “I told you, it’s tradition to let you learn on your own.”

“But _why_? You iddn’t! _And_ you taught your siblings.” He crossed his arms. 

“That was different.” She started moving around the kitchen as she spoke. She seemed intent on making breakfast. “We were all raised as witches. You only just discovered your magick, so you’re supposed to discover how to use it. It’s meant to be done alone so you can ease into it.” She shrugged, pulling the eggs out, and a bowl. “Anyway, doesn’t matter now. I’ll just have to teach you some tricks for safety.” 

Derek and Stiles watched as she made the entire carton of eggs, half a loaf of bread for toast, and some bacon, then dished it between three plates. Derek’s plate was loaded the most, and he looked like he might start drooling.

“Wait!” Lucie said. “Let us pray!”

Stiles froze, as did Derek—before Lucie giggled. 

“Sorry, sorry. I’m only joking. We honor the goddess in other ways here.” She scooped up a forkful of eggs.

After they’d eaten, Lucie retrieved the box Stiles kept in the living room full of magick stuff. She rummaged in the box and pulled out a book and the knife. 

“Come on, you two.”

Outside, Lucie slapped the knife into Stiles’s hand.

“Make a shield.”

He frowned and switched the knife to his left hand, so he could cast with his right hand, but Lucie shook her head.

“No. Use the knife. Make a shield.”

“ _How?_ ” 

She smiled. “Just do it without the spell.”

Stiles sighed. “You’re confusing me.”

Derek, who’d stayed on the porch, said, “Try using it like a wand.” 

Lucie rolled her eyes, but this was better advice than she’d given him, Stiles felt. At least he had some idea what to do, then. 

Feeling foolish, he slashed the knife through the air. The air around him shimmered, but a shield didn’t appear.

“Try again, but this time, just _think_ about what you want.”

So he thought _shield_ and swiped the knife through the air again. A translucent orange wall bloomed in the wake of the knife blade. 

“Good!” Lucie beamed at him.

It turned out, using a conductor made spellwork easier and faster. He didn’t have to perform any spells, just think of what he wanted. He got to try out the sentry spell, which turned out to be very cool. Three orange wolves had burst into existence, pacing around his legs. Lucie told him to focus on one in turn, and he’d discovered he could see through their eyes.

“You can use them to search the woods for you, keep a look out,” Lucie explained once they’d faded. “It’s a useful spell.”

“Were they wolves because of our bond?” Stiles asked, gesturing at Derek. 

“Possibly.” Lucie shrugged. “It’s different for everyone.”

Stiles glanced at Derek, then toward Lucie again. “Speaking of the bond…”

Lucie shook her head. “I don’t know how to break a familiar bond, and I’m not sure how much it changes once he’s human.”

“Oh. Well. Okay.”

“Next—a present scrying spell. Focus on someone.” She clapped her hands.

Stiles picked Scott, and focused on him, twisting the knife in his hand.

Like a television turning on in his head, he saw Scott, laughing. He was kicking off his shoes while a tall, curly-haired boy beside him took his jeans off.

Stiles, horrified, said, “Oh my _god_. How do you turn it _off?_ ”

But before Lucie answered, Scott and the boy had stripped completely and were—they were transforming into _wolves_ , running into some familiar woods and catching up with a group of other wolves.

“What the _fuck?_ ” 

“What?” Lucie demanded.

“My mom turned his friend,” Derek said wonderingly. He’d come down from the porch and had his chest pressed against Stiles’s shoulder. “I saw him running to meet with my…that was my brother and uncle and one of my cousins…” he said in awe. 

“That was your family?”

Derek nodded. “But I don’t know who the boy was with your friend.” 

Lucie looked between them. “Okay…let’s practice a couple more, then you guys can go have lunch, and I have to go.”

The other spells came just as easily. When Stiles asked Lucie why everyone didn’t just use a conductor, she said it was because they burned out quickly, and too easy to lose. Once a witch had learned enough to do magick without the spells or a conductor, they preferred to do it that way.

So they practiced more lethal spells for an hour before Lucie had to go.

“Can we make sandwiches for lunch?” Derek asked hopefully.

Stiles laughed a little. “Yeah. I’ve got some chips we can have with them.”

While Derek chose deli meat and toppings, Stiles tried Scott’s cell phone, but he didn’t answer. Stiles wondered if he was still in the preserve with the Hale family—pack?

Stiles set the phone down and looked at his cell. He was dimly surprised to see that it was the 25th, which, he reflected, was probably why Lucie had left.

He glanced at Derek and wondered if he should mention int.

He put his phone down and got the bag of chips out of a cabinet. “Here you go.”

Derek grinned down at the sandwich he’d made. “Thanks.”

Stiles still had some movies from the library, so he let Derek choose while they settled on the couch to eat. 

Halfway through _Poltergeist_ , they’d finished their lunch and were sitting closer together, though Derek seemed to be trying to restrain himself from even accidentally brushing against Stiles. 

He suspected it was out of respect for Stiles’s feelings about the whole situation. 

He appreciated it, but he’d gotten used to Wolf’s—Derek’s warm presence while laying around, and was about to ask, when the phone ring.

Derek paused the movie.

“It’s okay, keep watching.” Stiles got up and went to the kitchen. “Hello?”

“Hey, dude,” Scott squeaked. “So—so Mrs. Hale said you’d called yesterday.” 

“Yeah, I did. And today. So.” Stiles wasn’t sure how to approach the topic. Asking flat out if he was a werewolf was weird, even if he’d _seen_ Scott transform for himself. “So, I can do magick.” He closed his eyes. 

_I’m an idiot._

‘ _No you aren’t._ ’

_Not helping._ Stiles stepped outside, crossing his arms against the cold.

“Yeah,” Scott said slowly. “Mrs. Hale told me you said you were a witch…” He sounded so _skeptical._

“Well, I saw you shifting into a wolf earlier, with some kid, and running through the preserve, so I guess if I’m not a witch, you’re not a werewolf.” 

_That sounded so much better in my head,_ he thought, flushing.

‘ _Things usually do,’_ Derek replied, making him snort.

“Some kid—Isaac?”

“I thought he looked familiar. We went to school with him, right?”

Scott huffed. “How did you see me?” he asked at last.

“A scrying spell. For seeing the present. I can also look at the past and the future, if I try.” 

“Mrs. Hale said if you were telling the truth, I’m allowed to talk to you about it,” Scott said brightly. “So, Cora and Peter Hale saved me from a terrible asthma attack in November. I’d been out by myself, and my inhaler was in my car. They found it, and got me to the hospital. I guess they asked Mom some stuff about my asthma, because they invited us both over, and the Argents, and asked me if I wanted the bite.”

“Just like that?” Stiles demanded incredulously. “They just said, hey, we’re werewolves, wanna join the club?”

“The pack. And, I mean…sort of. Mrs.—well, Alpha Hale explained to Mom that there was a way to cure me of my asthma, and you know, Mom and Alpha Hale sort of know each other in passing, so they were friendly. And I go to school with Cora so I guess she vouched for me.” Scott sighed. “That’s what they did with Erica and Isaac, too. And Boyd got into an accident on the way to visit Erica, and she begged Alpha Hale to change him, so she did.” 

Stiles worked his mouth for a moment. “The Argents?” he squeaked.

Everything seemed so bizarre again. 

“Oh, yeah.” Scott’s voice darkened uncharacteristically. “They’re werewolf hunters. They have a treaty with the Hale pack, so they had to be involved if they’re giving someone the bite.” He sounded stiff.

“What happened?”

“Hm? Oh.” Scott sighed. “Mr. Argent said their pack was growing too much, too fast, and that my life wasn’t in danger like Boyd’s and Isaac’s had been. For the last few weeks, Mr. Argent has been coming over to do _check ins_ , like I’m some sort of wild animal. As if Alpha Hale would allow me to leave the den acting like that,” he muttered.

Stiles ran his hand through his hair, trying to absorb that. “So—are you—and Allison—?”

“Ha!” Scott’s laugh sounded hard and unlike him. “The last time we talked, she said she wasn’t sure if she could date a werewolf and needed time.” 

Stiles grimaced. “Oh. Do you think…maybe…her parents are pressuring her?”

“Even if they are, she’s 22, Stiles. And…” Scott hesitated. “well, it _hurt_ when she looked at me like that.”

_Ah, there’s my Scotty._ “So, how’s life as a werewolf?”

Stiles sat on the porch swing as Scott excitedly told him about being able to run miles without losing his breath, and training with the pack, and how Markus, Ty, and Ben— _Derek’s brothers_ — had helped him control his shift until he was safe to go in public again.

“—anyway, Mom’s coming over for dinner, so I gotta go. Bye!”

Stiles hung up and went back inside. Derek was curled up on the couch, watching the kitchen doorway unwaveringly. 

“Sorry I was so long. So, Scott’s a werewolf,” he said.

Derek nodded. “How do you feel about that?” he asked warily.

Stiles shrugged. “He doesn’t have asthma anymore.” He looked at the paused movie. “You could have kept watching.” 

“It’s okay.” Derek straightened and stretched out. “I didn’t mind waiting.”

They started the movie again, while Stiles thought over his conversation with Scott. He wondered if he should call Allison. They’d all been friends in high school, and maybe _she_ needed someone to talk to.

Caught up in his thoughts as he was, he hadn’t noticed the tension in Derek’s posture. 

Not until Derek leaned across the couch—Stiles turned to see what he was doing—and kissed him very lightly on the mouth. 

Then, his face flushing, he jerked away. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I’m sorry—I—you obviously—”

“Derek.” Stiles wasn’t sure where to go from there.

Derek jumped to his feet. “I’m gonna go do the dishes,” he blurted, and fled the room.

Stiles was left staring at the empty couch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope it was okay!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I FINISHED THE HANDWRITTEN VERSION! Wahoo!! So, as promised, here's another chapter, because I want to know what everyone thinks of the whole thing!! (I've already started on another fic. I'm so weak)

Derek was scrubbing at a stained cookie sheet when Stiles finally forced himself to follow him. He didn’t look up.

“I know I made you feel like I spied on you and lied to you,” Derek said, still scrubbing furiously at the pan. “And I get it—you thought I was an animal. I knew I was human, so my feelings are all—everything’s all…messed up.” He dropped the sponge and turned around, keeping his face turned down. “It’s just—I thought with us dreaming—we’d been talking a lot…”

“Derek. I didn’t—I _like_ you,” Stiles said awkwardly. _God. This is like being in high school._ That thought was followed by an errant concern he hadn’t realized he’d had, and he blurted it out. “Last time you were human you were a teenager.” 

Derek, who’d been smiling at his feet, frowned and lifted his head. “I’m twenty-five,” he said sharply. “I’m old enough to make my own decisions.”

Stiles shrugged. “I just wanted to tell you what I was thinking.”

Derek nodded, his stance relaxing slightly. 

Behind him, hard bits of ice and snow began hitting the window. 

“So,” Derek began with a slow curving grin, “if you _like_ me-” Stiles groaned at the teasing edge in his voice, “-can I kiss you again?” He was grinning fully now, cocky and amused. 

Stiles scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Yeah.” 

Derek stalked toward him, so animal suddenly that Stiles took an automatic step backwards, bumping into the table and making Derek laugh. 

When their mouths met, it was clumsy—partly because Stiles had compromised his balance when he backed up, and partly because Derek was not quite sure where to go from there. 

Duh. _He was seventeen last time he kissed,_ Stiles reminded himself, sliding his hand up to the back of Derek’s neck. He gave his hair a gentle tug, redirecting him slightly, and—

“Oops,” Stiles laughed, catching himself. 

Derek had tried getting closer, and the table had slid out from under them. “Sorry.”

“Let’s go to the living room.”

The movie, left unattended, had finished and gone back to the title screen. 

Stiles switched it to a documentary about penguins and lit a fire, beaming at it for a moment.

“You’re much better at that now,” Derek commented. He sat on the floor in front of the fire, one leg crooked and his arm hooked around it. He smiled up at Stiles. “Am I supposed to try to win you over now?”

“Huh?” Stiles still had to figure out what all of this _was_.

“Well, since _I_ knew I was human, I’ve had time to fall for you,” he said calmly. “So if I have to charm you, I can try.” And he flashed that cocky grin again.

Stiles rolled his eyes and sat down across from him, wrapping a fist in his shirt and dragging him closer. 

Here Derek was confident but rusty, and once he figured that out, he eased back and let Stiles set the pace for slow, soft kissing. The fist Stiles had wrapped in Derek’s shirt loosened and slid up so he could sweep his thumb across his cheekbone, sighing.

Derek hesitantly put his hands on Stiles’s waist, trying to move closer and bumping their knees together. 

Stiles laughed and tugged at Derek’s shoulder gently.

Derek took the hint and immediately climbed into Stiles’s lap, straddling him.

“You’re heavy,” Stiles wheezed. 

Derek just hummed and chased his mouth, sliding his hands under Stiles’s shirt and gripping his sides. 

Stiles pulled away to catch his breath, resting his mouth against Derek’s neck. He couldn’t quite stop himself from pressing quick, open-mouthed kisses to his speeding pulse.

He giggled when Derek pressed his face against his throat. “S’good.” He nipped at Stiles’s skin lightly. “Touch me,” he begged.

Wishing he could interpret that as a sexy touch-me, Stiles leaned back a little so he could run his fingers through Derek’s hair.

He turned to instant putty in Stiles’s lap.

‘ _Is this good too?_ ’ He felt hesitant—he wanted it to be, but he was unsure if Stiles wanted it, too. 

Stiles smiled. _This is okay._ Petting Derek as a wolf had been soothing, and he’d been good company, but Derek as a man was much better. 

He could cuddle back, for instance, and did, immediately. He melted off of Stiles’s lap and wrapped around him on the couch.

His body heat combined with the warmth of the fire and the documentary had Stiles drifting before long.

“What day is it?” Derek asked quietly. 

Stiles wasn’t sure how much time had passed. He blinked groggily. “The twenty-fifth,” he slurred.

Derek stiffened, then relaxed and hooked his chin over Stiles’s shoulder. “Oh.”

“Time’s’it?” Stiles muttered. “Dinner?”

“It’s dark out. I’m not sure. Are you hungry?” Derek reluctantly sat up.

Stiles laughed; his hair looked like something had tried nesting in it. 

Derek scowled and reached up to flatten it. “Yours isn’t any better.” He smiled. “Do you want me to cook dinner?”

Stiles eyed him suspiciously. “Why? What’re you gonna make?” He wondered if Derek felt the need to make something _festive_ , since it was C-Day. He had so far managed to avoid anything that reminded him it was a generally family-oriented holiday and didn’t want to mess up his day and mood with it. 

Derek grinned. “You’ll see. Stay here.” He jumped off the couch and bound toward the kitchen.

Stiles, bemused, looked over his shoulder as Derek started banging around in the kitchen. 

“Stay out there!” Derek called.

“Whatever you say.” Stiles couldn’t help trying to peek though, leaning over the arm of the couch until he almost fell off.

He only righted himself when Derek laughed at his awkward flailing. He distracted himself by changing the movie to _Spiderman._

Before long, the scent of cooking meat set Stiles’s stomach growling. Hamburger meat wasn’t usually involved by itself in elaborate family meals, at least in his house, so he relaxed. 

He turned the TV volume down and smiled when he heard Derek humming to himself as he cooked.

Sometime later, the smell of biscuits and tacos in the air, Derek swept back into the living room and set bowls of lettuce, tomatoes, sour cream, and cheese on the coffee table, left, and returned with two plates.

Looking extremely pleased with himself, Derek presented Stiles with a plate. On it were two round, lumpy biscuits.

“Taco rounds,” Derek said cheerfully. He sat beside him and started putting toppings on his biscuits.

Stiles grinned and used the fork to break a biscuit open and, sure, there was the taco meat. “That’s awesome.” He scooped cheese and lettuce onto his plate.

Derek watched him take his first couple bites eagerly. 

Stiles therefore made sure to exaggerate his enjoyment, closing his eyes and sighing in bliss. “These are so good! Where’d you learn to make them?”

“My brother Markus. He taught all of us, figured we should all know how to cook at least one thing for ourselves.”

“Is he the oldest?” Stiles asked as he ate.

Derek shook his head. “Laura’s the oldest, but she hates cooking. Then there’s Markus—he just likes knowing how to be passably efficient in everything.” He grinned fondly. “After me is Cora—she was twelve when I left. She liked Paige and had all sorts of questions for her.” Derek’s face sort of dropped a little. “Ty was eleven and always following Laura around. Ben,” Derek sighed softly, and stopped. He looked sad. “Ben was nine, so obviously he liked just…everything. He’s eighteen now.” He stared at his plate, apparently lost in thought.

“I went to school with Cora,” Stiles said, hoping to cheer him up a little. “She was on the lacrosse team with Kira Yukimura and Scott—well, Scott and I were benchwarmers, so we didn’t really play.” He babbled about Scott’s grand scheme of getting Allison’s attention in sophomore year until Derek was smiling and relaxed again.

The rest of the evening was spent talking and ignoring the movie. Derek told Stiles tales of childhood adventures with his siblings, including the time they painted the entirety of the rival high school in BHHS colors.

“It was when I was fifteen, it was for Laura’s senior prank. She didn’t want anyone else to steal her glory, so she got us involved.” 

“Her own paint crew,” Stiles snickered. “I was ten and _I_ heard about that. My dad told-” He choked off, his throat constricting. “He told my mom about it,” he said gruffly. He cleared his throat. “Dad thought it was hilarious. My mom had gone to the other high school.”

Derek watched his face for a moment. “We need more movies,” he said finally. “We’ve watched all of these.”

Stiles blinked and looked at the DVD selection on the floor. “I have more. My own. They’re in one of the boxes that didn’t quite get unpacked.”

They ended up watching the first three _X-Men_ movies until they fell asleep on the couch.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have had my worst day of the year so far, including the two weeks where I had no voice! :D So, anyway, I almost forgot to post this tonight! Please enjoy! There is a bit of icky gore in this chapter because I like violence and blood. Descript. of the gore in bottom notes.

Three days later, Stiles left the house with a grocery list. Derek had protested choosing anything, reminding Stiles that he didn’t have any money or way to help pay. Stiles, who had been using money from his savings, waved him off. Before his dad had gotten hurt, Stiles had been doing fairly well designing websites, editing essays, and organizing résumés—things he could do online. He’d been taking online courses, too, just until he decided on a career path. 

So Stiles left with the grocery list they’d both made, and the library returns and the knowledge that Derek Hale _really_ liked cherry Kool-Aid and had a craving for grapes. 

He planned to pick out a wide range of movies so they could remain in the house for a few days more, and avoid New Years.

Derek had wanted to go with Stiles as far as he could, but it seemed stupid—why risk it? If Jennifer attacked him, she’d probably wait until he was over the line, away from Derek, so he couldn’t help anyway. 

Still, he made his shopping trip quick, and went to Rae’s line as soon as he was done.

“Hey,” she said. She looked tired and sad. “Another kid went missing. Nine,” she added before he could ask how old. “Lucie’s setting up a search party.” She waggled her fingers. “Natives only.”

“Oh.”

She huffed and waggled her fingers again, slower—and aquamarine lights danced over her fingertips for a moment. “ _Natives_ only.” 

“ _Oh._ Well, Derek and I can help, then.”

“Sure. Derek is your familiar?” she asked, scanning the last item.

“Er…sort of.”

She lifted a brow but didn’t press. “Your total is $156.79,” she recited.

After that, he went to the library, apprehensive. Of course it was stupid. Everyone in town was on the lookout for Jennifer, so it wasn’t like she’d show up for work.

Stiles took his time choosing movies. He paused to send new pictures to Scott before he left, and to grab a basketful of books, too.

“Lucky we don’t have a limit,” the older woman at the desk said with a small grin.

“Very,” he replied.

“Do you need a bag, baby?” she asked. 

“Yes, that would be great, thank you.” 

It was snowing again when he went back to his car, making him pout as he struggled to pull his scarf tighter around his neck.

The flakes came down big and fluffy, sticking in his hair and to his eyelashes. 

 

Derek was in the front yard when Stiles returned, his head tipped back as he watched the snow. 

“Hey,” Stiles said hesitantly. He wasn’t sure what Derek was doing, and didn’t want to interrupt him. 

“Hi. I was checking the weather.” Derek smiled. “Need help?”

“Yes. You can grab the books.” Stiles hefted as many of the grocery bags as he could, resigning himself to the second trip.

Derek grabbed the books and the movies, and managed to get the last four grocery bags, too.

“Show off,” Stiles muttered, depositing his bags on the counter. 

Derek laughed and started unloading the bags, pausing to examine each item like a curious kid.

Stiles watched him from the corner of his eye, amused.

“You got grapes,” Derek said in delight, immediately opening the bag. 

“Yes. They were on the list.”

Once all of the groceries were put away, they were going to watch a movie, but a knock sounded at the door before they could choose one. 

It was Lucie and a couple other officers, bundled up and looking like they were all on edge. 

“Hey. We’re going to comb the woods for the kids. You’re welcome to join us. I just wanted to let you know.” 

“Yeah, I’ll help. Let me just get my stuff,” Stiles said, fumbling with his coat.

“Take your time. You’ll be with me and Spencer. The rest are gonna head out without us.” She turned to tell them that while Stiles scrambled into the house to get his boots. 

“Can I come?” Derek asked.

Stiles paused, hobbling on one foot while he tried to tug the boot on. “Yes.” He looked around for his scarf and hat, yelping in surprise when it looped around his neck from behind. 

“You left it in the kitchen,” Derek explained, snugging a teal hat over Stiles’s head. 

“Oh. Thanks.” He adjusted the scarf. “Well…jacket. Did Lucie give you a jacket?” He knew she’d given him boots, because he’d worn them outside a couple times, though admittedly, he forgot them more often than not.

“Yes. It’s in the closet.” Derek ducked around him and pulled a dull red coat out, grimacing slightly. 

Stiles smirked. “The big bad-”

“ _No_ ,” Derek groaned, covering his face. “No wolf jokes.” He pulled the jacket on and zipped it up, huffing at the sight of himself. He smoothed his hand down the front and sighed. “Okay. Let’s go.”

Stiles smiled and shooed him out the door, pulling it closed behind them. 

Lucie and Officer Donovan were in the yard, watching the trees and talking quietly.

“Got your athame?” Lucie asked.

Stiles stared at her blankly. “My what?”

“The knife,” she said, narrowing her eyes.

“Oh! Yeah, I have it.” He pulled it out of his back pocket. 

“Good. Have it ready, just in case. If we have to split up, use a sentry spell. I know your energy, so just send them looking for me, if you find something.” She looked at Officer Donovan. “You too.”

He smirked. “We won’t get separated.”

Derek stuck by Stiles’s side as they walked. Stiles wanted to ask him if he wanted to go back to wolf form, or if he ever would, but he looked so nervous as it was that he couldn’t force himself to ask.

_You okay?_

Derek jumped a little. ‘ _Yeah. I’ve just been stuck here so long._ ’ He looked at his hands, flexing his fingers one by one. Fear, sudden and bright, nearly overwhelmed them both. ‘ _I don’t want to be stuck forever. I don’t want to be only an animal again._ ’ 

_You won’t be._ Stiles grabbed his hand and squeezed, keeping hold of it as they walked. 

Lucie led them, occasionally doing spells that disturbed the air around them. She seemed more annoyed every time. 

“She needs their blood,” Officer Donovan said after the last time. “So—so at least one of them will be alive.” 

She grimaced. “That’s not good enough.” 

“Have you been searching the woods since Alice?” Stiles asked.

“Yeah. Different parts. We have a map we’ve been using to mark off the places we’ve looked.” She impatiently brushed snow off her face. 

They fell silent for another fifteen minutes, broken only when Officer Donovan deigned to explain the spell they were using. Lucie suggested they fan out, but stay within sight of each other.

“We’re sticking together, though,” Stiles said, lifting his and Derek’s hands. 

Lucie winked. “I figured.”

So they fanned out, performing the sensing spell as they searched for any sign of the children or Jennifer.

Derek seemed to be looking for something, his entire body tensed. He slowed every now and then to sniff the air, the move so canine that Stiles could only stare.

“Derek—wait—” Stiles looked left and right wildly, anxiety making his heart squeeze. “Where are Lucie and Officer Donovan?” His voice came out high pitched and breathless. 

Derek stopped walking, brows furrowing. “I—they were _just_ there.” 

The woods seemed deserted around them, empty of animals or people, empty of noise at all. Even the hard pellets of ice and snow that the sky spat out weren’t making noise where they struck at their jackets. 

Derek’s hand spasmed in Stiles’s, then clung tighter. On a hitching breath, he said, “I think—this is where Paige—where I-” but he couldn’t quite finish. 

Stiles looked around. To him, everything looked the same. Trees and rocks and brush, dusted with ice and snow. Dirt, covered in snow. More trees ahead of them.

“How do you know?” Stiles asked, shivering as a tendril of cold air slithered under his coat.

Derek inhaled deeply through his nose. “I don’t know. There’s a scent…” His eyes went half-lidded. “I always avoided this area, when I was a wolf. Probably because of that scent. I can’t really tell what it is…”

“Okay.” Stiles took a deep breath. “We’ll be careful. We can try to find Lucie.” 

Derek nodded and let Stiles lead them for a few moments before apparently deciding his sense of hearing and smell was better, because he started nudging Stiles further to the right every now and then. 

Because Stiles was searching for signs of Lucie or Officer Donovan, it came as something of a surprise when a dilapidated shack rose in front of them.

“Uh.” He stopped dead, staring at it.

It was made of blackened wood and looked pretty bad, half the roof caved in and piled with snow.

“Where did it come from?” he wondered, stepping forward cautiously.

He felt something drift over him, like a lazy swat at his head, and sudden, icy cold wind barreled into his chest, flinging him away from the shack.

Derek caught him by his shoulders before he hit the ground, pulling him up right. The wind howled around them, cold whipping at their cheeks.

“Use your knife!” Derek shouted, pressing his mouth right against Stiles’s ear to be heard.

Stiles yanked it out of his pocket with fingers gone numb and clumsy from the cold. _What spell?_ He couldn’t think with the wind raging in his ears and battering at him, making his eyes sting and water.

In desperation, he slashed the blade through the air in front of him with no thought of any spell.

A shield appeared, blocking the worst of the wind.

“We have to get in there,” Derek said urgently.

“Why?” Stiles’s teeth were chattering, and he wanted nothing more than to go home and start a fire to curl up in front of.

“Because Jennifer was protecting it for some reason.” Derek’s chest pressed against Stiles’s back as he leaned toward the shack. “Go find Lucie. I’ll go in.” 

“Hey.” Stiles thumped his fist off of Derek’s thigh. “Who has magick here, wolf-man? _Me._ So I’ll go in _with_ you.” 

Derek sighed. “Okay. Can you keep the shield up?” 

“I can try.”

The shield broke as soon as he stepped forward, letting the harsh wind get to them, but Stiles was ready; he thought of the air spell he’d learned to calm the wind. It worked until they were close enough to touch the wobbly door of the shack. 

Flames roared to life in a wide circle, closing them in.

“She’s dramatic, isn’t she?” Stiles observed, unimpressed. He could play with fire, too.

“Do the sentry spell. Lucie and Officer Donovan don’t know where we are,” Derek pointed out. 

“Right.” 

The wolves burst into existence and went running in three different directions.

It was like having a TV with multi-channel viewing shoved into his brain. He could see what was in front of him, and he could see through the eyes of each wolf.

Admittedly, the effect was a little dizzying.

“Come on,” Derek mumbled, shoving the door open. He yelped, yanking his hand away, but the burn had faded by the time Stiles had grabbed his wrist. 

The shack was dark, even with the door open to let in weak wintry sunlight. Stiles nervously twisted his knife, and bright orange energy balls flared in the middle of the room.

A choked gasp escaped Stiles’s throat. 

A teenage girl lay on the ground looking pale and sickly while a young boy was curled up in the corner with his arms tucked firmly against his chest.

The girl looked like Smithy the mechanic, the same narrow features and thin mouth, the same dark hair fanned around her head.

Derek crouched beside the girl. “They’re freezing,” he said, but Stiles was already stripping his jacket off for the little boy.

He wrapped him up after pausing to check his pulse, terrified by the limp flop of his head.

It was slow, but present.

Stiles wrapped the little boy in his coat, then fumbled for his knife.

The room began to warm up instantly, so he silently thanked Lucie’s parents for that spell.

“Have they found Lucie yet?” Derek demanded. 

He’d put his coat on the girl already and was trying to chafe heat into her hands. 

Stiles focused on the jerky images in his head. “Ah—yes. Lucie’s following one to us now. We should get outside so she can see us.” 

Derek nodded, lifting the girl and going for the door.

Just as Stiles was reaching to pick up the boy, something caught his eye.

Next to the wall was a leather book, a _familiar_ leather book.

Impulsively, he reached for it, burning his palm against the protected cover. He wrapped his scarf around it and tucked it under his arm, then turned to the boy. 

He was lighter than Stiles had expected, which made carrying him and the book just that much simpler. 

He had one foot out the door when something let out an unearthly wail and latched onto his ankle, yanking him off balance.

The boy flew out of his arms, but Stiles didn’t see where he’d gone—he was too busy throwing his hands out to catch himself. He landed on his left hand _wrong_ , the snap of a bone breaking echoing in his head just as a horrible tearing pain followed the snap. Hot blood coated his hand.

The grip on his ankle tugged, and he reacted without thinking, twisting and slashing desperately with his right hand, though there was nothing to hit.

The wailing came again, and the fingers released his ankle.

With a sobbing gasp, he dragged himself free and scrambled away from the shack, flinching as people converged on him. 

“No, no, calm down, it’s us,” Lucie said desperately, catching his hand as he swung at her.

He blinked tears out of his eyes and really looked; Derek hung back, holding the little boy carefully, while Officer Donovan and Lucie hovered.

He felt the pain in his left wrist then, and looked down—and away again, quickly. He’d seen just enough bone and blood to know he didn’t want to look anymore.

“I can fix it,” Lucie said in a forced calm tone. 

Stiles made a choked noise of disbelief, keeping his eyes firmly away from his wrist. As a result, this left him staring at Lucie’s left shoulder.

This was a horrible mistake, which he would soon realize. 

Lucie closed her hand around his broken wrist, making him yelp in pain; first at the touch, then at the icy feeling that spread from her hand.

Panting, he squeezed his eyes shut, only for them to pop back open in response to the stunning pain and the horrific, squelching _pop!_ that emitted from his arm.

Unfortunately, as his eyes opened and focused on Lucie’s left arm again, he witnessed her wrist, through a haze of agonized tears, snap, the bone shooting through her skin.

Lucie yelped, then sighed as it snapped back in place. 

Stiles felt her release his wrist and looked down in surprise. It looked like he was wearing a sticky red glove, but the bone was clearly back where it belonged, and the pain lessened into a stiff, sore throb.

“Healing spell,” Lucie explained, massaging her own wrist.

Stiles nodded and pressed his arm against his stomach protectively, so he could avoid looking at the blood. 

“Lucie—it’s Felicity and Adam,” Officer Donovan said sharply.

She turned and for the first time seemed to notice that Derek was holding a boy in his arms, and that behind him in the snow was a teenage girl.

Radios squawked, magick zinged through the air.

Stiles remained seated, staring at the door of the shack, the book still tucked under his arm and wrapped in his scarf.

He should give it to Lucie. She was police _and_ an experienced witch. He pressed it closer, shivering.

Derek had relinquished the boy—Adam Hart—to Lucie and crouched in front of Stiles while the police did official things around them. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Yes,” Stiles said thickly. He glanced at Officer Donovan, who had his back turned and was speaking into a radio. _I found a book. I think it’s Jennifer’s Book of Shadows._

Derek rocked back on his heels, but made no other sign of what he’d heard. _‘Are we keeping it?_ ’ 

Something eased in Stiles’s chest. _Just to look at first. Then Lucie can have it._

Derek nodded and stood up, holding his hand out to Stiles. 

He hadn’t noticed before, but as Derek pulled him to his feet, he saw that the ring of flames had diminished. 

“Lucie and Officer Donovan did something that made them go away,” Derek said, though whether it was in response to his thoughts or the direction of his gaze, Stiles wasn’t sure.

“Oh.” He looked at the two officers, watched as Lucie performed spell after spell over the children.

“That’s all I can do here. Odette should have potions ready for them,” Lucie added, picking Adam up.

Officer Donovan scooped up Felicity. “Back to the house?”

“Yeah. We’ll drive out from there.”

Derek looked at Stiles and managed a grin. “Do you want me to carry you?”

Stiles snorted and started walking. “Maybe next time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stiles falls and breaks his wrist, and the bone goes through his skin. I didn't really describe that too much, on account of Stiles being squeamish about blood, but he does mention it.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your comments!! Sorry if this chapter has info dump, I'm not sure how I feel about it...

Stiles read the Book of Shadows as soon as he could. When they first got home, Derek and Stiles had immediately passed out, right on the living room carpet. Stiles had woken up at around ten pm and started reading, too curious to wait. He had to put gloves on to read it, the cover burning his hands with every touch. The fabric covering his skin was enough to keep the curse or whatever from recognizing him. 

It seemed like a journal and a confessional of sorts, filled with horrible details of the things she’d done, but the creepiest by far was what prompted Stiles to leave Derek at the house and to go tell Lucie. He didn’t even pause when Derek pointed out it was 2 AM; he just ran for his jeep.

He found Lucie’s house only after being given instructions by Smithy, who’d spotted him stopped at the corner by her shop, cursing. 

He banged on the door until she answered, bedraggled and snarling.

He thrust the Book of Shadows under her nose. “Jennifer’s name is really Julia,” he blurted before she could slam the door in his face. 

“Wha?” Lucie muttered. She stepped back to let him in, nudging a small, curious dog out of the way. 

“Okay, so _you_ said Jennifer just moved here,” Stiles said hurriedly, pacing in front of the door that he’d closed. “But when she attacked me, she said she’d been born here. And this is her Book of Shadows, and in it, it starts way back—she had written her name as Julia Baccari.” 

Lucie blinked at him, looking utterly confused. “Julia—Baccari? Julia died in a car accident,” she said slowly. “Twelve years ago.” 

Stiles shook his head, shoving the book at her again. “No. _Everyone thought_ she died, but she didn’t. She almost did but—I guess she survived, and her girlfriend-”

Lucie was shaking her head. “Julia’s car went over a cliff—there’s no way. She didn’t have magick, she couldn’t have healed herself or rescued herself.”

“I _know!_ ” Stiles snapped. “But her girlfriend Kali Notting was an Alpha werewolf and managed to get her out of the car! _Read it,_ Lucie!” 

She looked annoyed at him for yelling at her in her own house, but she took the book. She gasped and dropped it. “Ow!” 

“Oh, shit, sorry. I forgot. That’s why I was wearing gloves.” 

She glowered at him until he sheepishly handed his gloves over. She read the page it had fallen open on. “So—wait—she killed—?”

“She killed Kali because she wouldn’t change her.” Stiles leaned down to flip the page, wincing at the burn. “So, I guess what happened was Kali rescued her, and Jennifer—er, Julia, wanted her to change her into a werewolf so it would get rid of the scars she had. But Kali, I guess, refused? She didn’t say why in detail, just that she refused. And somewhere along the way she figured out that she could still read magick books. She says she found her _Blood Magick_ book in Chicago, and that the magick got rid of her scars for short periods of time.”

“Goddess,” Lucie breathed, looking at the book. Her face had gone a grayish color in horror. “She killed my younger sister and used her _blood_ —” She cut herself off and swallowed thickly. She flipped some pages. “Did you see anything recent?”

Stiles shook his head. “Once I realized she would call herself Julia—and that it was the name in the cover—I came over here. She mostly refers to herself as Jennifer, but…” He shrugged. 

Lucie stepped back and gently set the book on the tiny table in the dining area. “I need coffee,” she announced, stripping the gloves off. “I need coffee and I need to think.”

Stiles nodded her and stepped deeper into the house; her little dog danced around their legs. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No. I’ll get you some coffee, too.”

Stiles stood beside the table, feeling awkward. After a moment, he crouched beside the dog—it looked like a pug, but with more blondish brown fur—and began petting her until she was quivering with excitement. 

‘ _Did you make it to Lucie?’_ Derek felt anxious, and a little frustrated. 

_Yes. I didn’t know I could hear you from so far away._

‘ _I didn’t know you could, either. I wish I weren’t stuck here!_ ’ The frustration sharpened and Stiles thought, for a moment, that he saw a glimpse of the woods through Derek’s eyes.

_Are you out of the house?_

Guilt seeped through the bond.

_Derek! What if Jennifer—uh, Julia attacks you?_

‘ _Aside from cursing me,_ ’ he said as bitterness threatened to choke them, ‘ _she’s never shown much interest in me.’_

_But what if she does? She killed her_ Alpha werewolf _girlfriend, Derek. Please go back where it’s safe._

‘ _But you aren’t safe,_ ’ Derek protested. 

_Lucie knows what she’s doing. Please?_

‘ _Fine._ ’ Resentment flooded the bond, strong enough that Stiles almost couldn’t feel the worry under it.

The dog he’d been petting yipped. 

“No caffeine,” Lucie said flatly. “You here, Stiles?”

“Huh?” He blinked and looked up. “Yeah. Just talking to Derek.” He straightened up. 

“That’s Cleo,” Lucie said. “She likes coffee, so if you don’t want her in your lap, we’d better sit at the table.” She gently nudged Cleo out of the way and pulled her seat out. “So that was a lot.” 

Stiles laughed mirthlessly and sat across from her. “Yes. I haven’t read far enough to know if she has the other kids somewhere.” 

Lucie nodded, her eyes on the book. She made some careless gesture and it flipped open. “She doesn’t have spells in here. Not like…step-by-step spells.”

“So?” Stiles frowned. 

“So, that’s weird. A BoS is like a journal, but it’s a _magickal_ journal. So you can record your experiences and experiments with magick for future generations. If she’s so desperate to be a witch that she’s killing and stealing to do it, why not do it right?”

Stiles pursed his lips in thought. “Maybe she didn’t know? Like, maybe to her, she thought Books of Shadows were _just_ journals. And she does list the things she did,” he added in disgust. “She wrote about cursing Derek. She just didn’t explain her spells or anything.”

Lucie hummed, flipping the page with another hand wave. 

Stiles sipped at his coffee and let Cleo chase the toe of his shoe across the carpet, back and forth, while she read. 

“This is so crazy,” Lucie murmured. “Look at this—remember that _Blood Magick_ book she gave you?”

“Yes,” he said warily. 

“She wanted you to touch it so she could see if you really did have magick—she couldn’t quite tell yet.” Lucie looked disgusted. “This is…I have to take this into evidence, see if we can use it.” She stroked Cleo’s head lightly and looked at Stiles. “You should go home. Be safe, and on the lookout.” 

Stiles grimaced. “Fine. Oh.” He picked his gloves up. “How are the two kids?”

“Felicity was a little worse for wear, but she was conscious when I left—and spitting mad. That whole family’s full of fighters,” she added with a little smile. “Adam’s okay. She must not have started taking blood from him yet. He’s mostly just scared.” 

“With good reason,” Stiles muttered.

Lucie looked at him, worried. “Maybe you should stay in town…” 

He shook his head. “What, and leave Derek all alone?”

“Well, but…Jennif—I mean, Julia doesn’t really pay him any attention, does she? She cursed him, but she could have killed him.” Lucie shrugged. “He’s probably safer in the woods than anyone with _her_ on the loose.” 

Stiles shook his head again, harder. “That doesn’t mean she won’t kill him. We’ll be okay. Thanks.”

“No, thank you for bringing this to me. It could help us track her.” She smiled, grimly satisfied. 

“Well…good.” Stiles didn’t want to point out their failed attempts at tracking the children. “I guess I’ll get home then.” 

Lucie nodded, standing up. “Good. Get some rest. Spend some time with Derek. He sure is cute,” she added with a slow grin. “So are you, now that you’re awake. I meant to tell you that before.”

Stiles froze, his coat half-zipped. “What do you mean, now that I’m _awake?_ ”

She shrugged. “You were all sickly and half-here before.” She made a sort of blooming gesture with both hands in front of her face. “Now you’re with us.”

Stiles, bemused, simply finished zipping his coat and pulled his hat on, then his gloves. “If you say so.” 

“I do say so. Be careful. Do you have your athame?” 

He rolled his eyes. “Yes. I put wards on my jeep before leaving.” 

Her grin widened. “Smart. Now _go_.” She picked Cleo up and hugged her to her chest, watching him leave.

‘ _Are you coming back?_ ’

_Are you spying on me?_

‘ _Only a little._ ’

Stiles sighed and got in the jeep, locking the door behind him. _Yes, I’m coming back._

‘ _Good._ ’

The town was mostly asleep still as Stiles drove through it. The Smith’s garage still had lights on, and a fast paced pop song pumped from the open doors. 

For whatever reason, he’d imagined Smithy listening to hard rock. 

Amused with himself, he continued into the dark of the woods. 

Derek was waiting for him on the porch. He was wearing a long-sleeved gray shirt, jeans, and no shoes, and he had his arms crossed.

Trying, Stiles suspected, to look intimidating and mostly managing to look half frozen. 

“Where are your shoes?” Stiles demanded, jumping out of the jeep.

“Inside.” Derek glowered at him until he was on the porch beside him. Then his expression melted and he wrapped himself around Stiles, face pressed into his neck. “I kept getting these _horrible_ images in my head. Like…” _‘Like you dead like Paige.’_

Stiles flinched, pressing his hands against Derek’s tense back. “Oh. Okay. We’re both okay. Let’s go inside, alright?” 

Derek nodded and unraveled himself.

Two cups of hot chocolate sat on the coffee table.

“They got cold. I made them too early,” Derek admitted mournfully. 

Stiles smiled and waved his hand over them. They started steaming gently. “Thanks.” He sat on the sofa to drink it.

Derek smiled back and joined him.

“You’re still very cuddly,” Stiles pointed out. 

Derek rested his head against Stiles’s collarbone and sighed. His eyes went to sleepy slits when Stiles started stroking his hair.

“Before you petted me that first night, no one had touched me in nine years. My family’s all very…physically affectionate.”

Stiles heart just _broke_ for him, as he imagined seventeen-year-old Derek suddenly isolated from five siblings, his parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, just after mercy-killing his girlfriend.

Aching loneliness came through the bond, an echoing hollow-feeling. 

Stiles kissed his temple very lightly and went back to sipping his hot chocolate.

Close as they’d gotten, Stiles wasn’t sure if sharing a bed was a good idea, so as dawn crept through the windows, they retreated to their own rooms, yawning fiercely. 

_For once, Stiles’s own nightmare didn’t come; instead, he dreamed of wandering an empty street as it snowed, before incredible, desperate fear caught his attention. It wasn’t his own—he felt as calm and as peaceful as he’d ever been. No, this fear came from somewhere else. Stiles looked around, confused, his vision widening until the street he’d been on was a line far away and in the black expanse around it, he saw a shimmering golden line, thin and taut as fishing wire._

_Stiles saw the tremors of fear and grabbed the line on instinct, tugging, though he wasn’t sure how—it seemed he didn’t have hands._

_Either way, it worked._

_Stiles tumbled through the dark, gripping the golden thread down, down, down, until he hit something rubbery and bounced. He looked around and gave a shout of laughter._

_“Where—are—we?”_

_Stiles whipped around._

_Derek was fighting to get to his feet in the corner of the bouncy house._

_“We—this is Kids Party Jumps. Scott and I had a joint birthday party here when we turned sixteen. It’s a building filled with bouncy houses and arcade games,” he explained when Derek continued to look confused. “It’s way cleaner in Dreamland,” he added thoughtfully._

_Derek looked around. “You came_ here _for your sixteenth birthday?”_

_Stiles huffed. “We were living our childhoods to the_ fullest. _What’d you do?”_

_“Made my sister Laura take me to one of her college parties so I could drink and stuff. Werewolf metabolism makes getting drunk basically impossible.” He bounced a little and nearly lost his balance. “This probably would’ve been more fun.”_

_“This place is awesome, okay?” Stiles bounced over to Derek’s side. “What were you dreaming about?”_

_It took Derek a moment to look at him, and when he did, his face was gray. “I—dreamed of the day Paige asked me to—and I was, I was doing it, you can’t hear someone beg you like that and not…but right when I was about to snap her neck, it was you and you were scared and asked me to stop but it was too late and you—were—” his breath hitched and he just stopped._

_Stiles grabbed his face. “I’m okay. You didn’t hurt me, and you saved Paige a_ lot _of pain, okay?”_

_Derek nodded. His eyes were wet. “I want my family.”_

_“I know.” Stiles looked around. “Catch me!” he yelled, and bound away._

_Derek let out a startled laugh and followed him._


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figure if I post this now, I won't have to be antsy about it while I'm at work all day tomorrow. Yippee! This Happen in this chapter, and hopefully it isn't boring to everyone. D:

Stiles woke very abruptly the next morning—or he thought it was morning, until he checked the time. It was nearing 2 pm. He hadn’t slept this late since high school. 

For a moment, he lay there, confused. Something had woken him, surely, but he couldn’t figure out what. It was as if someone had shouted his name, but he _knew_ he hadn’t heard anything.

‘ _Can I come in?_ ’ 

“Yeah.” Stiles stretched and sat up, yawning fiercely. 

Derek opened the door and stepped in carefully. He looked sleepy and rumpled as if he, too, had just woken.

“Did you hear something?” Stiles asked, flipping the blankets off his legs. 

“No. I _felt_ something.”

Stiles set his feet on the ground and shuddered. “I guess I did, too. I think I should call Lucie, see if everything is okay.”

“Do you think it was her?”

Stiles shook his head. “I’m not sure why but I feel like it was…someone else.” He stood up and scrubbed at his head. “I’m going to brush my teeth first.” He grimaced.

Derek nodded. “Do you want me to call Lucie while you do?”

“Sure, that’d be great. Just ask her if anything is going on.”

“Okay.”

Stiles used the toilet and cleaned up as quickly as he could before going downstairs to see what Lucie had said.

Derek was holding the phone against his ear, looking troubled. “She isn’t answering.” 

“Oh. Well, try the police station.” 

Derek handed the phone over, so Stiles called the police station. It kept ringing until he got annoyed and hung up. 

“Maybe they’re busy,” he offered weakly. It seemed like something darker, but what? Jennifer slaughtered a police station full of armed officers, not to mention fully trained adult witches?

He called twice more, the second time fiddling with the phone cradle until he figured out how to put it on speaker. Endless, droning ringing filled the room while he and Derek hunted for lunch.

Stiles found his appetite was practically non-existent. He felt nervous and restless, listening to the unanswered rings.

He’d been in the Beacon County Sheriff’s Department often enough as a kid to know a phone wouldn’t go _this_ long unanswered. 

“Maybe-”

“Please don’t,” Derek said softly. He was staring at the plate of eggs he’d made.

“Don’t what?” Stiles asked, lifting his brows. 

In response, Derek leaned across the table and jabbed the END button on the phone, cutting off the ringing. “Don’t say that maybe you should go check what’s going on.” 

“I don’t know any other phone numbers. I don’t know how else to find out if everything is okay _besides_ going to check.”

Derek scowled at his eggs. “But I can’t go with you,” he muttered.

“I’m not _helpless_ , Derek.” Stiles shoved aside his untouched plate of toast.

“I didn’t say you were,” he said immediately. “But if the _two_ of us could go, it’d be safer.”

Stiles scoffed. “That’d be great. How do you plan to get out of the woods? Because if _I_ knew how to break your curse, don’t you think I’d have done it right after that _horrible_ phone call to your mother?”

Derek’s face twitched. “You would have?”

“Yes.” Stiles jaw hung open. “ _Why_ wouldn’t I have?” 

Derek dropped his gaze. “To punish me, maybe. For spying on you.” 

Stiles glared. “Punish you. Right. Look—I know you didn’t have a choice. We’ve been over this. I’m not a colossal dick, so, yeah, after hearing you try to talk to your m-mother, I’d have tried. But I don’t know _how_.”

“Right,” Derek murmured. He still didn’t look up.

Stiles sighed and stood up. “I’m gonna drive to the police station and see what’s up.” He frowned thoughtfully. “Or maybe to Smith’s garage. She and her father and sister know more magick than me and if anything happened at the station, they can help.”

“Okay. I’ll be here,” Derek muttered bitterly. 

“Thank you. For watching out.”

He snorted.

Stiles sighed and grabbed his knife from the counter on his way out of the kitchen. 

He peeked out of the window and groaned. It seemed to have snowed at least two while they slept.

Keeping that in mind, he went upstairs and changed clothes, wondering if his jeans would fit over some thin sweatpants. Trying it ended with him wearing baggy jeans over bunched up sweats, so he started over, and wore his thick socks pulled up as high as he could. Then he layered on his shirts, something he was quite skilled at. 

The end effect made him look thicker and awkward, but he’d be warm, which was his goal. 

Downstairs, he added gloves, a hat, and a scarf to his ensemble and braced himself for the cold. 

“Bye!” he called to Derek, who grunted a reply from the kitchen.

Wading through two feet of snow was not the joy-filled Wonderland-esque experience he expected, based on movies. It was ungainly and wet and _cold_ , dammit. 

The drive was a little better. The heat in the jeep took almost half of it to kick on and the other half breathing hellfire onto his face and hands, making him sweat in all of his layers. 

Once he got into town, a creeping silence made him notice that absolutely no one was outside. No one was walking around, or getting into or out of cars, or entering stores.

There were certainly cars parked in usual spots—outside of the library and grocery store, by the gas station and pharmacy. 

Frowning, he pulled into Smith’s parking lot, relieved when he saw lights on and the garage door open. 

He pulled in and started to open his door, to call out for Smithy, when he saw someone dart out from behind the desk. He froze, then fumbled for his knife.

“Don’t!” the girl shouted, holding her hands up in surrender. “We—we called for you!” she gasped.

Stiles gaped. He recognized her—she was the girl they’d just rescued from Jennifer/Julia’s shack. “You—called—?”

She nodded quickly. “I’m Felicity,” she said loudly. “You were the only adult that I could think of that probably hadn’t left the protective wards of your house today.”

Stiles got out of the jeep, his knife still in hand.

Felicity didn’t seem too concerned by it.

“What do you mean? Where’s your sister?”

Tears filled her eyes. “Jennifer took _everyone_. Almost everyone has wards on their houses, even non-witches, ’cause we look out for each other. So when they stepped out of them…when they got into the center of town…she just _took_ them.” 

Stiles scrubbed at his head. “What would she need non-witches for?” 

Felicity looked over her shoulder nervously. “I—I don’t know. Blood?” Her voice was very low, like she was afraid to be overheard. 

Stiles tensed. “Who else is here?” he asked sternly. 

She looked at him, nervous. “Everyone older than me is gone. So—so I realized—no one is looking after the kids…”

A teenage boy stood up with a baby on his hip. “They were scared.” He jiggled the baby. “This is Hope. She was in a _shopping cart._ ” 

“How did you know her name?” Stiles asked suspiciously.

The boy scoffed. “They live across the street, I babysit her every other Friday. Guys,” he called, and a discreet door behind the desk opened, and about twelve children of varying ages came trailing out. Some were in pajamas, others fully dressed and sniffling.

“Oh, jeeze,” Stiles breathed. 

Unfortunately, the children had noticed him, and the sight of an adult—even a stranger—seemed to reassure them. 

“Are these…all the kids in town?” he mumbled to Felicity, who gave him an exasperated look.

“No. These were just the kids we found in town, looking for everyone else. Some might be in their houses, or at day care or…anywhere.” She looked scared.

Stiles nodded. “How old are you?”

She frowned at him. “Sixteen…”

“Do you have your license?” 

“Yes…”

“So do I!” Another girl piped up. She had two boys clinging to her jeans. 

“And I have my permit,” the boy with baby Hope said. 

Stiles rubbed at his face. “Where’s somewhere that’s warded and big enough for all of the kids?”

“The school,” Felicity said instantly. “There’s only one. There aren’t _that_ many kids in River’s End. Maybe…like…”

“One hundred and fifty-seven,” the other girl said. “My mom’s the principal,” she added with a grin.

“How many can drive?” Stiles asked, trying to figure some plan out. 

“About twenty.” 

Stiles gaped, and she shrugged.

“Why worry about getting your teenager a car when you can walk everywhere?” 

“Kyla,” Felicity sighed. “That one-fifty-seven isn’t counting kids and babies too young for school,” she added. 

“Great. Okay. We’re going to the school, then we’re going to look for the rest of the kids.” 

“We’re going to kidnap everyone’s kids?” Felicity asked skeptically.

“Yes. What if Jul—Jennifer comes back for them? What if they’re in their homes alone?” Stiles demanded. He didn’t have much experience with children past when he’d been one. He gestured at baby Hope. “What about the infants?”

The boy looked at Hope skeptically. “They can’t really do much for themselves before they can crawl, dude.” 

Hope began to blow spit bubbles until the front of her green jacket was soaked. 

“Still. The school is safe. So, we get everyone to safety.”

“I wanna ride in the blue one!” a little girl announced, running forward. She slapped her hand on the side of the jeep. 

“How did you guys get here?” Stiles asked.

“Walked,” Felicity said with a shrug. “Kyla drove her sister’s car, and Brent came with his dad, right?”

Brent nodded. “Yeah, he went in to talk to Smithy, and I fell asleep. When I woke up, it was like, noon, and I saw Hope crying, in a cart pushed up next to her mom’s car.”

_Jeeze._ Stiles had no idea what to _do._

“ _All_ of the adults are missing?” he asked weakly. 

Felicity nodded. “I tried calling _everyone._ I couldn’t remember Lucie’s old number,” she added apologetically. “So we called you with, y’know, magick.” 

“Felicity called you on her own,” the other girl, Kyla, boasted. “She’s the most powerful.”

Brent looked mildly offended. 

Stiles held his hands out. “Okay, I can take three kids in my car, and one needs to sit in the front seat. So thirteen or up.” 

The little girl with her hand on the jeep raised her eyebrows, her eyes behind her glasses going so incredibly _expectant._ She reminded him of Lydia Martin at that age, intimidating the other kids on the playground. 

A teeny tiny boy trotted over to her, followed by a gangly girl in pajamas. She looked irritated and half awake.

“Okay, you’re up front,” Stiles said, pointing at her. “Everyone else, attach yourself to a licensed driver. You three get in and buckled up.” 

Stiles and Felicity went outside. 

“What we need are car seats,” Felicity said. “Because some of them are really little.” She swept snow off car windows and peered into the back seats.

“How are we going to find all of the kids?” Stiles asked, clenching at his hair and nearly jabbing the knife into his own cheek. 

“Unlock this car please,” Felicity said instead of answering. “There’s a booster seat that Liz can use.” 

Stiles scowled. “How am I supposed to unlock this?”

She flicked his arm. “Your magick, _Muggle_ ,” she snorted.

“Oh, right.” He looked at the car, feeling silly and thinking _unlock_ , and flicked the knife like a wand. The locks popped up. “Cool. Do you guys really use the word Muggle?” 

Felicity, who’d crawled into the car to unhook the booster seat, gave Stiles a _look_. “No. It was a joke. Take this.” She pulled a blanket out with her, folding it and setting it atop the booster seat. 

They found enough car seats for the very little children, and made do with the booster seats they could find. 

Stiles was amazed at the amount of pillows that adults with children seemed to keep in their cars. 

Felicity drove at maybe twenty miles per hour all the way to the school, but Stiles wasn’t mad about that. On the contrary, he felt better going slow and steady with the kids in his car. 

Plus, it made it easier to fill Derek in on the way.

He was understandably worked up about it all, alternately tossing out random suggestions and teasing Stiles about his awkwardness with kids.

Once at the school, Felicity bullied the older kids into the elementary wing, since it had the highest protection and also mats for nap time. 

Stiles thought it was a good choice, as the smaller children stopped looking so teary-eyed and started running in and out of classrooms, shrieking.

_We’ll never find all the kids,_ he said with despair. _I can’t ask Felicity for help, she’s just a kid, too!_

‘ _Stiles!_ '

_What? What’s wrong?_ His heart lurched painfully, his own fear concealing Derek’s emotions. 

‘ _No, calm down! Call Scott! Call him and tell him that there’s danger and that you need help. He’s your best friend._ ’ Joy and triumph bulldozed through Stiles’s momentary fear, left him laughing giddily even though he was still scared. 

_Derek…he’ll be in danger. It’s also a five hour drive!_

‘ _Not for us. And,_ ’ Derek said smugly, ‘ _he won’t come alone._ ’

_How do you know?_

‘ _Pack,_ ’ he said simply.

He felt so sure…

“Is there a phone in here?”

“Every classroom has a landline,” Felicity said immediately. “Dial 9 for outside calls.” 

He knew Scott’s cell by heart now, and dialed quickly. 

“Hello?” he answered suspiciously.

“Scott! It’s Stiles.” Oh, how was he supposed to phrase this? “I—need—help,” he said haltingly. “There’s…” How could he say this so that it didn’t really involve Derek, so he didn’t get silenced? “There’s a witch and—it’s…there’s kids and we need help,” he finished. 

“How much danger?” Scott asked, suddenly stern and businesslike. 

“There are kids all by themselves all over town—all the adults are gone, and I have no idea what to do, or even how to find all the kids and they’re alone. And I don’t know how to find the witch and stop her.” 

There were some muffled voices, followed by shuffling noises and a cheer, and a new voice on the phone. “Stiles? Stay where you are. We’ll find you.”

“Um—Mrs. Hale? How long—?” His voice squeezed out of him like air from a balloon. 

“Will we take? A couple hours. Stay put.” She hung up. 

Felicity cleared her throat. “Who was that?”

“Apparently being best friends with a werewolf means you get the whole pack’s help when you need it.”

Her eyes rounded. “You’ve got a werewolf friend? Wow,” she breathed. “And a whole _pack_ is coming? Cool.” 

‘ _The pack is coming?’_

_Yes!_ Stiles felt like dancing. _They’re on their way! You’ll get to see them!_

Fear blotted out joy, though, this time from Derek’s end. 

‘ _What if they can’t see me? Because of the curse?’_

_Then we’ll find a way to break it. They’re coming. Maybe your mom knows something._

Of course, Talia had told Stiles to stay put, and he felt like ignoring her would be unwise. Plus, children, running loose in the school. 

Kyla had come into the room where Stiles was and was currently picking the lock on the teacher’s desk drawers. “Snacks,” she explained, yanking it open with a flourish. 

Muffins and dehydrated fruit lay in the drawer with what looked like confiscated candy and an allergy list. 

“Nice.”

She beamed and passed him a blueberry muffin. “One of the monsters is allergic to blueberries, so you get that.”

“Don’t call them monsters, Kyla!” Brent called from the hallway. He looked scandalized.

“Beasties! Or—tasty snacks!” she shouted, leaping over the desk at one of the boys who’d been clinging to her at the garage. He shrieked with laughter on impact. 

Stiles decided sitting behind the teacher’s desk was the only thing for him to do, so he did, and watched the kids wrestle out their tension. 

Brent came into the room reluctantly, still holding the baby. “Aren’t you supposed to keep them from killing each other?”

“I see no blood,” Stiles said loftily. He did glance over the kids, though, to make sure there were no tears. 

Kyla and the two boys—they had to be siblings, they all looked alike—were in the middle of the floor, Kyla on her stomach, the boys sitting on her back. They didn’t _seem_ to actually be fighting. 

“Maybe we can all settle down and read?” he suggested.

Brent gave him a dry look. None of the kids even looked up. 

‘ _Try being louder, and firmer,_ ’ Derek prompted, amusement singing through them. 

Stiles huffed. “Everyone sit down! We’re going to read!” 

There was some scrambling, but the little kids fell in line, sitting on a colorful rug and staring intently at Stiles. 

_I’m like their god. This is cool!_

He looked at the teenagers. “Who wants to read first?” he asked with a wide smile. 

None of them spoke, but the girl in pajamas who’d ridden with Stiles scoffed and stood up.

“ _I’ll_ read first,” she announced, shooting the older kids a disgusted look.

Kyla stuck her tongue out. 

It took two books and some snacks before the kids were all slumped over on the reading rug asleep.

“Wow,” Stiles whispered. “You hypnotized them!” 

Felicity shushed him. 

Brent made a noise of distress. “We need a diaper.” He was holding Hope like one might hold a bomb.

“You’re joking.”

Brent offered him the baby, making him skip back a few paces.

“Okay, okay, where do you want me to find diapers?” he demanded. 

“The office has some emergency baby stuff,” Felicity answered. “I’ll show you.” 

Kyla made a cooing sound, to which Felicity responded by flipping her off. 

Brent cleared his throat. “Baby wipes, too.” 

“Why does your school have baby stuff?” Stiles asked as they headed into the hallway.

“Emergencies,” Felicity responded with a furrowed brow. 

She led the way silently after that; her shoulders were rigidly straight as Stiles tried to keep pace without outright jogging.

“Are you-”

“Don’t ask if I’m alright!” she shouted, startling him. “Crazy witch took my whole family.” She threw her hands up and kept marching toward the office.

“Help is on the way,” Stiles said nervously. Though, really, what could Scott and Talia Hale do against Jennifer? Derek had been cursed by her for nine years. 

“The _werewolves_. They can help find the other kids and get them to safety, but what can they do to Jennifer?” Felicity demanded. 

“Well,” he began, but he didn’t know how to finish.

“Exactly. If—if she uses all of their blood she’ll be really powerful.” Her fists clenched. “She talks to herself a lot. She kept us sedated, but not enough that I couldn’t hear her sometimes.”

“What’d she say?”

She shrugged. “Creepy, crazy stuff. Here’s the office.” 

They didn’t speak anymore, just grabbed a bag full of baby supplies out of a tall cabinet and took it back to the classroom they’d claimed. 

Brent changed the baby with practiced ease, calming her when her face screwed up, ready to cry.

Stiles avoided the area, because that tiny child _stank_. Instead he went about dropping blankets he’d found in cubbies on the napping kids. 

“So,” Kyla said, poking his shoulder. “They’re gonna be hungry when they get up. What do we eat?”

“Is there food in the cafeteria?”

She made a face. “No. Everyone’s out for winter break.” She grinned mischievously, and Stiles noticed her left front tooth was chipped. “I could go to the store-”

“No. No one is leaving. Go break into the other teacher’s desks.”

She huffed angrily, but did as told, stalking out of the room.

Twenty minutes went by, during which Stiles had been searching the room for more food.

“Weren’t you at some point a teenager?” Brent asked dryly.

“I’m feeling judged. I’m not a parent or a teacher, I don’t know how to deal with you guys,” Stiles hissed.

“Kyla practically _told you_ she was leaving.”

“She was supposed to check the other classrooms,” Stiles pointed out.

Felicity snorted. “You gave her a reason to leave your sight. That was basically saying, ‘why, Kyla, please ignore what I’ve told you and go do what you want to do instead’.” 

Stiles made a face at her and turned away, irritated. She was, unfortunately, right, and at sixteen, Stiles probably would have done the same, which made the sting of humiliation so much worse. 

Kyla returned with bulging grocery bags around the same time the kids were waking up and complaining about being hungry. 

“What?” she demanded. “Their parents can pay for the groceries. I made a list.”

“With what?”

“The cash register. I scanned everything and left it there.” She looked smug until she caught sight of Stiles’s face. “Come on. They’re hungry. Crazy pants obviously doesn’t care about us anymore. She took all the adults and left us.” 

“She could come back.” Stiles shook his head. “Never mind. Where’s the cafeteria?”

Brent led the way this time, while Stiles brought up the rear.

A little boy with smudged glasses stuck to his side, watching him solemnly. 

“You aren’t supposed to keep that in your pocket,” he said at last.

“What?”

“Your wand. It isn’t supposed to be awake in your pocket.” 

_Wand?_ Stiles pulled the knife out. “Awake…?”

The boy nodded and faced forward again, apparently satisfied that Stiles had removed it from his pocket.

“Tim’s clairvoyant,” Felicity said, a few kids ahead of them. “He knows things.” She shrugged.

“Do you _all_ do magick?” Stiles demanded.

“No,” at least five children chorused.

“Most of the non-magick kids aren’t here,” Brent said. He kicked open the door to the lunch room and let the kids run in.

Kyla held some bags out to Stiles. “Prepare some sandwiches.”

“Allergies, Kyla!” Felicity hissed.

Stiles pulled the list out of his pocket. “I’ve got some.”

The kids weren’t so young that they couldn’t tell Stiles what they were allergic to, so that was easy.

Once everyone was eating, Stiles took up pacing. Derek was anxious, and Stiles was anxious, and their anxiety was feeding into each other and redoubling until Stiles was shaking as he paced.

‘ _I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m nervous._ ’ 

The sensation of hands rubbing down his arms was so real Stiles had to look over his shoulder to check that Derek hadn’t appeared there.

_It’s okay. Me too._ He sighed and sat at an empty table, resting his chin in his hands. _How will they get here so fast? Running?_

‘ _Yes._ ’

_Derek. They’ll be able to run here? In two hours?_

‘ _It’s already almost been two hours. Plus, someone will drive to bring their clothes,_ ’ he replied placidly. 

Then, suddenly, his side of the bond went echoingly, terrifyingly silent, no emotions, no thoughts.

_Derek? Derek!_ Stiles gripped the edges of his table, holding himself upright.

‘ _I’m here._ They’re _here,’ he said dazedly, emotion creeping back in._

_How do you know?_

‘ _I can feel them._ ’ 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is seventeen!! :D Please enjoy!

Thirty minutes after Derek sensed them, howls ripped through the air, so nearby that Stiles flinched.

“Stay here,” he said loudly, knife gripped tight.

What if it was a trick? Something Jennifer had done to fool him into going out of the wards? Or to get to the children?

Felicity tried to follow him.

“No,” he said quietly. “If it’s Jennifer…”

She looked back at the kids.

The little clairvoyant boy, Tim, smiled widely.

“I think it’s okay.”

“Stay here anyway. To protect everyone,” he added, trying to remember himself at sixteen. 

Her shoulders straightened. “Okay.”

Stiles went to the nearest door that led outside.

More howls rose; Stiles gripped his knife tighter, swallowing. He carefully picked his way through the snow and looked around. 

He heard…something—the steady thumping of paws racing over snow-covered ground—and turned in time to get bowled over by a brown wolf that had melted into Scott by the time they hit the ground.

“ _God,_ ” Stiles gasped, despite the fact that he hadn’t hit anything hard.

“Stiles!” Scott cheered, and squashed his face against Stiles’s chest.

“Uh, hi.”

“Sorry. Who is all over you?” he asked indignantly. “It smells familiar.” 

“Ah. That’s probably Derek,” he said hopefully.

“Probably…?” Scot prompted, lifting his head. 

He looked different. That was upsetting, since Stiles had known Scott forever, and so obviously Scott always looked like _Scott._ Now he looked more mature than he ever had, with short cropped hair and bright golden eyes, not to mention the muscle he was crushing Stiles under.

Also, he was naked.

“Dude.”

“I know. Laura’s coming with our clothes,” he said cheerily, sitting up. “Guys!” he called.

‘ _Laura?_ ’ Derek said hopefully.

“Who all came?” Stiles asked casually.

“All of Cora’s siblings, Boyd, Erica, Isaac, Uncle Peter, Talia, Oliver. Y’know. Everyone we could grab.”

“Uncle?”

Scott shrugged. “He’s like everyone’s grumpy uncle,” he whispered. 

Suddenly, no less than ten wolves of varying fur colors raced over the snow toward them.

Stiles’s fists clenched reflexively, panic making his thoughts skitter away like scared mice.

“Don’t worry. Laura’s got our clothes. Tell me what’s going on.”

“Uh. Crazy human stealing magick by drugging witches and draining their blood. She took all the adults. I found some kids in the mechanic’s shop but there are more scattered through town, alone. That’s part of why I need help.”

Scott nodded. “Laura’s here!”

The wolves veered left, toward the road, and crowded around a black Camaro that stopped in the middle of the street.

A tall, dark haired woman got out, swinging some duffle bags into the snow. “Jeeze, McCall, have you no shame? You’ll traumatize the children,” she called, gesturing at the school. “Is that him?” she asked, looking Stiles up and down.

“This is Stiles, yeah,” Scott said in delight, throwing his arm around Stiles’s shoulders companionably. 

The wolves gathered around the Camaro were getting up and shifting, one after another, all of them chattering and bumping comfortably into each other while they pulled clothes on.

‘ _I can see them through your eyes,_ ’ Derek said suddenly. He sounded choked. ‘ _They all look so different._ ’ Joy and devastation warred in Derek’s head. ‘ _I barely recognize them. Jesus, Benny looks just like Mom._ ’ 

Stiles couldn’t figure out who was who, so he figured he could wait until…someone introduced them.

He could see Isaac Lahey pulling on a sweater and elbowing Laura lightly and laughing. He saw Cora Hale picking a branch out of a tall, light haired man’s hair and flicking it at his nose. 

After everyone was dressed, they looked at Stiles in eerie unison. While they’d been getting dressed, Scott had been relaying Stiles’s story, so when Talia Hale approached him looking regal and expectant, Stiles straightened and gulped. 

“What do you need, Stiles?” she asked very simply, and somehow she made herself seem more powerful by asking, instead of giving him power. 

“I need—help finding all the kids in town. And for someone to stay here with the other kids.” He looked into her dark eyes and smiled. “And I need you to come with me.”

Her brows raised and _wow,_ Derek thought he looked like his father but Stiles saw him in his mother. “Oh? And why is that?”

“I’ve tried telling you, so I think I’ll just show you.”

“Show me what?” she asked suspiciously.

Stiles sighed. “Your missing son is at my house.”

“You want to show me…your house?”

“See? That’s why you have to come. I can’t _tell_ you.” 

“Hmm. Alright.”

“Hey! I have a question!” A brunette man about Stiles’s age, maybe a year younger, knocked into Talia’s side and stayed there. “If we go find _all_ of the kids, how’re we supposed to get them to come with us?”

Stiles opened and closed his mouth, but before he could start stammering, Felicity came out of the school.

She hesitated at the sight of so many strangers, then marched toward Stiles’s side. 

“Ty has a point,” Cora Hale said, approaching and putting her arm around Ty’s neck—she hung there, as she was much shorter.

“A point about what?” Felicity asked quietly.

“That if they help us get the kids, how do we get the kids to go with them?” 

Felicity frowned.

From the door of the school, Kyla shouted, “Just knock them out, they’ll be fine!”

“ _Kyla!_ ” Felicity yelled back.

“Do you have a _better_ idea?” she demanded.

Stiles frowned and asked, _Hey, can you flip through that grimoire for me?_

‘ _S-sure._ ’

As he flipped through, Stiles focused on his mind, trying to see through his eyes the way he did to Stiles sometimes.

It took a moment, trying to orient himself to Derek’s view of the world—the sofa looked closer to blue than gray to him, and the font in the book was easier for him to read than it was for Stiles—but he saw the spells clearly enough.

_Astral projection? Do you think that’d work?_

He heard everyone else talking outside of his head, but couldn’t really focus on it until Talia Hale asked if he was alright.

“Just—thinking of spells,” he muttered awkwardly.

‘ _It probably will. If one of the kids does it. The girl we found? She seems to know everyone._ ’

_Thanks._

“Felicity could do an astral projection spell. So you can be here and at some of the houses?”

“Multilocation astral projection?” Kyla asked doubtfully. “That’s a little advanced, even for Felicity.” 

“You could do it with a conductor, right?” Stiles asked. 

She bit her lip. “Yes, I guess. But I’d have to find a conductor…”

“And how do we do that?”

Kyla smiled angelically. “I can get one. But I’ll need someone to give me a boost.”

“What-”

“I can,” a boy, clearly the youngest Hale, with dark hair and an impish grin sprang forward. “Ben,” he said with a flourishing bow.

“Uh-huh. C’mon, principal’s office, please.”

“She’s going to become some sort of criminal mastermind someday,” Felicity said, partially horrified and a little dreamy.

“What’s going on with this witch, Mr. Stilinski?” The man who approached was tall with light blond-brown hair and a wiry build. If he weren’t a werewolf, Stiles suspected he’d have been weedy, but running around on four legs apparently packed on the muscles. “I’m Oliver Hale,” he added, just as Derek gasped, ‘ _Dad,_ ' in his head.

Stiles could see what Derek meant now. Their faces were so similar. Derek may have had his mother’s coloring and a thicker build, but he and his father had the same angular cheekbones, the same shaped hazel eyes. Hell, Stiles could even see Derek in the way Oliver was holding his mouth, firmed up and stubborn. 

“She’s, ah,” Stiles shook his head. “She’s been killing young witches for their magick—she doesn’t have any of her own. We found Felicity still alive, and another boy, yesterday. And today…”

“Today she enchanted all the adults and took them,” Felicity said. “Like—any adult that left their house’s wards, they just…stopped. They left. We found a baby in a cart by her car, some kids in the grocery store…”

Talia turned her head and beckoned the rest of the pack closer.

A bulky man with bright green eyes grinned at them. “I’m Markus. Scott doesn’t shut up about you. When’s the wedding?” he asked, and laughed when Scott leapt onto his back playfully.

“I’m Laura,” the eldest Hale child said, and stepped right into Stiles’s personal space.

“Uh…” he managed.

She took a good, long sniff of his neck while he stood there awkwardly.

Her mother smacked the back of her head. “Stop that.”

Laura backed away, rubbing the back of her head and looking petulant—just like Derek when he got upset.

“His scent’s weird, Mom. Like half of it is missing.” 

“That doesn’t mean you put your _face on him,_ nerd,” Ty laughed.

“It worked for Isaac,” Markus pointed out, and Scott banged his forehead against Markus’s shoulder in punishment.

Isaac, partially behind them but the tallest aside from Laura, turned very red and kept his silence.

“That’s not why I was smelling him!”

Ben and Kyla returned before they could shout anymore. Kyla was balanced on Ben’s shoulders, holding a handful of sticks, rocks, and long, thin crystals.

“My mom confiscates them and puts them in the ceiling where non-witch teachers won’t find them.” She passed the objects down to Felicity and patted Ben’s arm.

He lifted her and deposited her on the ground like she weighed no more than a baby.

She curtsied at him, snickering, and turned to Felicity. “Well? Do any work for you?”

Felicity wrinkled her nose, skating her fingers over the objects. “We’re not supposed to use these until we’ve learned the right way,” she muttered before picking out a smooth, gray-black rock and handing the rest back to Kyla.

“That’s a conductor?” Oliver Hale asked.

“Yep.” Felicity grinned. “So, who’s gonna go search the town?”

Talia looked over the werewolves. “Peter, you’ll come with me. Scott, Isaac, and Ben will stay here. Everyone else will round up the kids.”

“But-” Scott protested, dropping from Markus’s back.

Stiles shook his head, even as Talia said, “No, Scott.”

“Mom!” Cora said loudly. “Why can’t he go with? He’s been looking forward to seeing Stiles for _forever._ ” 

‘Because he’s needed here. He’ll see him when we’ve finished.”

“Alright.” Scott gave Stiles a sad-eyed look, so Stiles responded with a smile.

“Hey, Felicity, you wanna do that spell?” 

She nodded. “Whoever’s going needs to stand in front of me.”

She paced along the line of them, twisting the stone in her hand as she did.

Before long, Stiles saw a shimmer at the side of each werewolf, then a sort of washed out image of Felicity next to everyone.

“When I’m meditating, I’ll be able to make the images clearer,” she explained. 

“Alright then. Check every house, bring them back here, and then wait until I return. After we’re done with…whatever Stiles wants to show us, we’ll get started on that witch.” She looked at Stiles, who nodded agreeably. “Okay, then. Laura, we’ll take your car.”

“Mom,” Laura gasped.

“Actually, we should take my car. It’s got protections on it and stuff,” Stiles said. 

Laura continued to look scandalized.

Talia rolled her eyes at her daughter. “Fine. Lead on. Get in the school,” she added to the three that would be going inside. “Ben, listen to Scott.”

Ben saluted and shouted with laughter when Scott tossed him over his shoulder and ran to the door. 

Kyla followed Isaac, while Felicity looked at Stiles.

“If she killed them already, she’s going to be really powerful,” she warned. Then she followed her friend inside without waiting for an answer.

Stiles looked at the werewolves that were left, and even they didn’t last long—the larger group was already splitting up and heading out to the houses.

Peter and Talia Hale were left. Peter was fair beside his sister, with a stern, disgruntled sort of expression on his face while Talia simply looked impatient.

“It’s, ah, the jeep,” Stiles said awkwardly, and led the way. _We’re coming, Derek._


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, I'm terrible at angst, all is well!! Your distressed comments made me so happy though!! :D Hope it lives up to your expectations, at least!

Derek was on the front porch when they arrived. Stiles glanced at Peter and Talia, but they gave no indication of having noticed him. Stiles sighed and got out, making an apologetic face at Derek. He looked like someone had slapped him.

“Well?” Talia prompted.

“I…I…there’s a, um…the witch…hid…something…from you,” he said carefully, watching to make sure they heard every word.

“What? What could she have hidden from us? We don’t even know her,” Talia snapped.

“That’s what I wanted to show you.” Stiles bit at his lip thoughtfully. He couldn’t figure out how to get her to _see_. “He—er, it’s something really important, but I can’t tell you what.” 

Talia scoffed, but Peter looked thoughtful. 

“Why can’t you? Because you don’t know?” 

“No, because I literally cannot. I’ve tried. You didn’t hear me.” He crossed his arms, ready to argue, but Peter just nodded.

“And…how important is this…hidden thing? Can it wait until after the crisis?” 

Stiles looked over his shoulder at Derek, who looked stiff and sad and longing. “No, it really, really can’t.”

“I’m guessing there’s some sort of curse,” Peter said cheerfully.

Stiles grinned. “Yes! How do we break it?” They gave no indication of hearing him.

“And if it’s important to _us_ , then…Talia,” Peter turned to her, “you should try roaring.”

“Ex _cuse_ me?” 

“Howl. Roar. If it has to do with our pack, the curse should break at your howl, especially if this isn’t even a true witch.” He glanced at Stiles, who nodded. 

Burning hope was flaring in the bond; on the porch, Derek’s grip on the handrail was splintering the wood.

Talia sighed. “Fine. This had _better_ be worth it.”

“It is,” Stiles said, lifting his chin.

Talia rolled her shoulders. Her eyes turned bright red, fangs growing awkwardly in her mouth. She took a deep breath and let out a bone-chilling howl. The sound of it was somehow commanding, so much so that Stiles took a step toward her even as he clapped his hands over his ears at the sheer volume.

Even Peter seemed to be struggling, eventually dropping to his knees and tipping his head back to expose his throat.

Talia’s howl choked off in shock suddenly, a gasp echoing across the clearing. She put her hands up to her mouth.

Peter followed her gaze and jerked to his feet, his jaw hanging open.

Derek, who had also dropped to his knees, got to his feet slowly, as if he was in pain. “Mom?” he said hesitantly.

“Derek,” she rasped. “Baby?” She flew across the yard.

Derek ran to meet her; they slammed into each other in the middle, crying and grasping at each other as they slipped into the snow. 

“My _nephew?_ ” Peter demanded, looking toward Stiles.

He only nodded.

Peter ran to join them, skidding in the snow before he managed to grab at Derek and hug him tightly.

Stiles heard Talia choking out questions, demanding to know where he’d been, what had happened, if he was okay.

Stiles sat on the hood of his jeep and watched the woods for signs of life. He twirled his knife through his fingers and tried to ignore the scene to give them some privacy. It was hard, when he could feel Derek’s joy bounding through the bond, so he settled for grinning wildly and keeping his gaze averted.

It didn’t take _too_ long. Derek babbled out his story while Talia stroked his hair and face and cried.

When he got to the part where Jennifer changed him back and they tried to call, Talia laughed wetly.

“That’s why Stiles called. _Scenic_ , my ass.”

“You’ve been trapped here all this time,” Peter murmured, looking around.

“Yes. The curse kept me stuck here and we couldn’t tell anyone about it.” Derek pressed his face against Talia’s neck, shuddering.

She stroked his back and looked at Peter over his head.

‘ _She’s angry._ ’

Stiles jumped a little. _Why would she be angry?_ he asked incredulously. 

‘ _Not at me. They’re happy to see me alive. They’re furious at Jennifer._ ’ 

“Okay.” Talia sat back and wiped her face, taking a deep breath. The smile splitting her face looked almost painful. “Let’s get back to town. Get to the pack, regroup. We’ll figure out what to do about the witch together.”

“Everyone’s here, right?” Derek asked excitedly, standing up. “Laura and Dad and Markus—all of them?” 

“Yes. Your aunts and uncles and cousins were out when we got the call, of course,” she added. “But as many of us came as we could.” She got up as well, brushing snow off of her pants.

“I can’t wait to see everyone,” Derek said, pressing close to Peter’s side as he stood. 

Stiles hopped off the hood, which drew the Hales attention to him.

The three of them beamed at him, and Derek stepped away from them to approach Stiles. He cupped his face between his palms so gently and kissed him softly.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. He swept his thumbs across Stiles’s cheekbones. He grinned, elation firing through them. “Thank you.” He yanked Stiles forward into a tight hug, pressing his face into his neck.

Stiles rubbed comfortingly at his back, smiling awkwardly at Talia over his shoulder.

“You’re very welcome, big guy.”

Derek pulled away from the hug reluctantly, dropping another kiss against Stiles’s jaw, then his mouth, as he did so. He turned back to his mother, grinning and leaving one hand on Stiles’s waist. “Can we go see everyone now?”

“Yes,” Stiles said quickly. “Yes, let’s go to the school. You need to see your family—pack. Yes. Everyone in the jeep, please.”

Talia merely arched her brows before obeying, but Peter didn’t move for a moment, staring at them. 

Derek shifted his weight subtly, so he was right beside Stiles, staring back at his uncle.

Peter’s mouth quirked. “Alright.” He got into the backseat.

Completely losing tension, Derek happily followed Peter and sprawled across him in the backseat.

Once the door closed, Stiles shook his head and went to the driver’s door. He froze with his hand on the handle.

Dread slid down his spine like an ice cube dragged down his skin. His heart started pounding; he pulled his knife out of his pocket and whipped around, but no one was there. He swallowed with a click, twisting the knife nervously.

His breath began to huff as the dread started mounting in his chest, his eyes wheeling wildly for the source.

When it became obvious that there simply _wasn’t_ a source, not one he could see, Stiles got in the car.

“You okay?” Derek asked.

“Yes. Just checking for…anyone.” It was not technically a lie.

The drive back was quick; mainly because Stiles drove like something was on his ass, but also because of the pure joy bouncing around the car. 

Derek was asking question after question about his pack, and it seemed no answer could dim his high spirits. 

As they neared the usual boundary line for Derek’s curse, however, he grew tense and quiet, clinging to Peter.

Nothing happened except that they kept going.

Talia really had broken the curse, then. Completely.

Derek whooped and lunged forward to hug his mother again, and started up with his questions.

By the time they reached the school, Derek was vibrating with excitement.

Stiles felt sick with dread, his hands shaking with it, and he still couldn’t even pinpoint the cause. 

They all got out as the pack flooded from the school.

They all froze and stared at Derek.

Non-family members—Scott, Isaac, Erica, and Boyd—simply looked confused, as if he were vaguely familiar. Ben, who had been nine when Derek disappeared, could be seen squinting as if trying to place his face. Oliver’s face went slack, gazing at his son with unfiltered wonder.

It was Laura who screamed and launched herself at him, bowling him over. Cora let out a little sob, and she and Markus piled on next. 

Oliver made his way more slowly, moving like he may break, with Ty and Ben at his back. 

From under Markus’s crushing hug, Derek said, “Hi, Dad. Ty. Benny.” 

Ty roared with delight and joined the pile. 

Ben looked at his mother. “He got _old,_ ” he said lightly. 

Cora jumped up and yanked him into the pile of crying Hale siblings.

By now, the shouting had drawn the children out. They made a wide circle around the wolves, watching the reunion. 

Eventually they let Derek up and they all began talking while Oliver hugged him finally. 

Stiles felt too far away from the joy of the reunion to participate. He was too cold with fear and dread to smile or move.

When a small, warm hand closed around his and tugged, he turned stiffly and looked down.

A redheaded boy with glasses stood there, and tugged again, until Stiles slowly knelt in front of him. 

“You’re Tim, right?” he asked thickly.

The boy nodded. His face was incredibly grim. 

“Are you okay?”

He nodded again and lifted his hands to Stiles’s face, cupping his cheeks much like Derek had. 

_The world around him fell away and reformed in the woods, darker, colder. Adults in varying states of dress were tied to the trees. Some were unconscious. Very few were awake. Others were paper pale and had blood staining their fronts._

_Jennifer weaved between the trees, waggling a pen between her bloodstained fingers and reading from a book out loud, in some horrible, guttural language._

_“You.” She jabbed the pen at an old woman, breaking the skin of her cheek. “Why didn’t that work? Three adults, and I barely felt anything.”_

_The woman just glared, so Jennifer dug the tip of the pen into the cut until she cried out._

_“Odette,” another woman, this one middle-aged, said, “just tell her.”_

_Odette sniffed. “You need complete darkness.”_

_“Why do you think we’re out here?” Jennifer hissed._

_“It has to be full night, you thieving idiot,” Odette snarled, and received a hard smack for her efforts. The bright red mark merely looked like a battle flag upon her weathered, angry face._

_Odette, the middle-aged woman, and Lucie were the only ones tied to that particular tree, which was odd. The other trees seemed to have as many people squeezed on as she could manage._

_Jennifer sighed. “You’re lucky, Crone. I need you last. Maiden,” she pointed at Lucie, “then Mother, then Crone.” She smiled. “You get to watch everyone die.” She paced up a few trees, approaching the Smith family._

_They were tied up with another two people, who cringed at the sight of her._

_Lance Smith called her some names; his daughter, the only one, it seemed, to have inherited his red hair, drew her head back and spat fantastically at Jennifer’s face._

_It was a fist that cracked across Serenity’s face; her head lolled against Smithy’s shoulder._

_The brunette woman on her other side spoke with dignity. “What do you want?”_

_“Your_ magick, _Patience. Duh. But for now, I actually need Sarah and Penny’s blood. The first step is the_ non-magick _people,” Jennifer said cheerfully._

_The two woman began struggling wildly, crying, screaming, and begging. The Smiths, too, began to struggle and shout, attempting to use magick. Jennifer seemed to have done something to the witches to dampen their magick, however; not even sparks came from their restrained hands._

_The pen in Jennifer’s hand changed into a knife; she set the book aside and approached the girl wearing black._

_“Hi, Sarah,” she said sweetly, and cut her throat._

_The girl on her other side screamed._

_Jennifer ignored her and began to smear the gushing blood all over herself, from her head down._

_Stiles’s horror and revulsion were so acute that Jennifer must have sensed him; she looked up, meeting his gaze with a furious one of her own._

_“You,” she hissed._

_The vision faded._

“Whoa, Stiles, you okay?”

He looked up.

Derek had his hand on his shoulder, while Scott stood in front of him.

“Yeah. Yes.” He shook his head and stood up. He didn’t feel dizzy like he’d expected; just disgusted. He looked around, but Tim had disappeared into the crowd of children.

“What’d I miss?” he asked, grinning weakly.

“Derek was just telling us how you kept him company and let him stay with you and…everything,” Cora said, walking up behind Scott.

“Oh, yeah. Well.” He looked around and spotted Talia. “Um, so. I think I can find Jennifer.”

Talia’s brows rose; she quickly made her way to them. “How?”

“Vision,” he muttered. “She’s got everyone tied to trees in the woods. She’s killing the regular humans first, and witches when it gets dark. I can find her.”

Talia nodded slowly. “Alright. We’ll need a plan.”

“Well…” He glanced at Scott and Derek, respectively. “I have an idea.” 

“Go on.” 

“She wants my magick—she already attacked me in the woods before. And during the vision, she…noticed me watching and seemed pretty pissed. I thought...I can distract her while you guys go in and untie all the hostages. You get them out, or free at least, then you can help me with Jennifer.”

“You’re proposing you be bait?” Talia asked calmly.

“A distraction, really. An annoying one, to be sure,” he waggled his knife, “but basically…”

“You can’t be _bait,_ ” Derek blurted, outraged. “You could get hurt!”

“She’s killing people,” Stiles said quietly. He was hyper aware that all of the children standing around had parents in the woods, and some of them may have been orphans already. “We have to stop her.”

“Then we can help you keep her distracted,” Scott said, aiming a smile at Derek. “Can’t we?”

Derek nodded reluctantly. 

Talia’s head was cocked; she held up a finger before Stiles could ask what she was doing.

‘ _She’s listening to someone,_ ’ Derek said.

“Those two girls are arguing,” she said at last. “One of them wants to come with us, and the other wants her to stay.” She gestured across the yard, where Kyla and Felicity were, indeed, arguing furiously.

Stiles sighed. “Kyla’s been getting in trouble all day. Makes me want to apologize to my dad.” He stiffened up at the reminder of his father who he—honestly—hadn’t spared a thought for.

‘ _Stiles. People have been kidnapped and murdered. You’re preoccupied,_ ’ Derek said while guilt swamped them.

“He’s doing okay. The same,” Scott said quickly.

Stiles nodded, dropping his gaze. “Felicity will keep Kyla from following us,” he muttered. “She knows it’s not safe.”

Talia ran her hand over his shoulder, and Derek and Scott’s hair, then turned to the children and her pack. “Alright. Ben, Isaac, you’re staying behind. Children, please go inside. You should all remain inside until we return.”

Brent, still holding hope, frowned. “They’re not _all_ going to listen.”

Talia drew herself up; she seemed suddenly much larger. “It’s dangerous. We’re here to help. You will go inside, and listen to the older kids. Ben and Isaac will be in charge. You may leave the school only we return. Go now.”

As if hypnotized by her calm, firm voice, the children all made their way back inside the school, followed by the teenagers and Ben and Isaac.

Talia turned to Stiles. “Alright. How do we find her?”

Stiles grimaced and explained his vague plan. 

Peter seemed intrigued, at least.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Action! Fun!! I got distracted last night with my Camp NaNo novel worldbuilding, forgive me.

The plan was that Stiles would use his sentry spell and the werewolves would follow a wolf, split into three groups until they found the hostages. Stiles, Derek, and Scott would head out from a fourth point, being as loud and conspicuous as they could. 

Stiles did magick; anything he could to show off. He grew out of season flowers, threw balls of energy and light around, and kicked up wind. Scott was very impressed; Derek was not.

“The athame is getting worn out,” he said, pointing.

Stiles looked at the knife; the blade was dulled and smudged black in some places, like he’d smeared ash on it. “Huh. That’s what Lucie meant about them getting burned out.”

Derek nodded.

Scott shrugged and started looking around.

Stiles watched the others in his head for a moment; he gave a whoop of joy.

“Talia and Peter’s groups have found the hostages,” he barely breathed. “They’re just waiting for her to leave so they can free them. Laura’s group is about to find them.” 

Scott frowned. “I can smell blood. I think we’re close, too.”

“Okay then.” Stiles cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, “Hey, Jennifer! Or should I call you Julia? How’s your girlfriend? Killing her didn’t give you magick, huh?”

Derek stared at him wildly, but Stiles shrugged. Pissing her off would get her to leave her post even faster. 

“The hostages are just up there,” Derek whispered. “I can hear them. We’re maybe fifteen feet away.”

“Jennifer! Julia! Come on, you bi-” A wave of energy flung them back into the dirt. _So that’s usual,_ Stiles thought. He swept his knife in front of him—a telekinesis spell. Rocks flew up and hurtled toward Jennifer, pelting her while Stiles scrambled to his feet.

He hesitated at the sight of her.

Her hair was matted with blood, smears of it running down her cheeks and neck. Her clothes dripped with it. She smiled at him. “Do you like it?” she trilled. “I killed one adult witch for this.” She looked at her bloody hands like she was admiring jewels. “Much better than children. But it doesn’t last,” she sighed. 

While she’d been babbling her monologue, Scott had slipped away to shift completely; Derek only shifted partially, his face changing to something like a movie monster. 

Jennifer spared Scott a bored glance before looking back at Stiles. “I could take your magick.”

“Yeah, but it wouldn’t go to you.” He forced himself to smirk, even though the blood was making him nauseous. “What would be the point?”

Jennifer bared her teeth. “Taking away what doesn’t _belong_ to you,” she spat, and flung a fistful of fire at him. 

He swiped his knife—the fire extinguished against the water he’d thrown. 

Her face twitched in annoyance, but this time, she didn’t say anything—she just waved her hands. Large flames caught close to him, but he leapt sideways just in time. The motion shot a sparking ball of energy at Jennifer.

Scott, meanwhile, had crept up behind her, while Derek approached from her left.

‘ _We’re gonna rush her,_ ’ Derek said. ‘ _On three._ ’

Stiles wasn’t sure how Scott and Derek were communicating, but they seemed to be doing fine without a psychic bond, because they both went tense at the same time.

At Derek’s ‘ _three!_ ’, Stiles ran straight at Jennifer, flicking the knife and tossing flames at her.

She threw her hands out just before he collided with her—Scott slammed into a tree with a yelp and stayed down.

Stiles didn’t see where Derek had gone; he was too busy rolling in the dirt and snow with Jennifer.

It was like a schoolyard fight, hitting and scratching and yelling, mixed with bursts of magick and rage. 

Jennifer wrapped a burning hand around his throat—he shouted and slashed at her face with the knife. A cut appeared, and the skin around it turned a poisonous green.

She shrieked and swung her fist at his face; while he was still seeing stars, Stiles managed to flip them so he was on top.

The sleep spell he tried backfired in his panicked, confused thoughts, instead leaving welts all over her face and arms. She screamed and slammed her palm against his chest, flinging him off of her. 

They both leapt up and rushed at each other again. This time, though, as they collided, Stiles could hear people shouting; they must have moved closer to the hostages as they fought. 

Stiles hit the dirt and tried to bring up his knife, but Jennifer pressed her knee down against his forearm. 

“No,” she snarled. “ _Mine_.” She wrested the knife from his grip and brought it to his throat. 

_Lightning!_

Stiles brought up his other hand quickly, flicking his fingers even as the blade dug into the burn already marring his throat. 

As he fumbled the spell, someone slammed into her from behind. Stiles choked as the knife scraped up to his chin and laid open his cheek.

She shrieked—a hand pressed against her temple, a stone between her skin and the hand.

Stiles finished his lightning spell just as electricity crackled from the rock, Jennifer’s eyes widening impossibly. Her body began convulsing, blood and foam coming from her mouth—she bucked her attacker off before Stiles’s lightning struck the ground, mere inches from his target. 

It didn’t matter—she was dead when she hit the ground. 

Felicity scrambled to her feet, her face sickly gray.

“Did I—did I—?” She gagged and doubled over.

Stiles looked at Jennifer’s body, which was, horrifyingly, still twitching a little. 

“No,” he croaked. “I did.”

Felicity wiped her mouth and fell back against a tree, panting. She looked at something over his shoulder and started crying.

Stiles turned his head. 

The Smith family, still tied to the tree beside the dead women, were watching, their faces tear streaked.

Stiles got up quickly. As soon as he touched the ropes, they disintegrated. He stood there staring at his hands while Lance and Smithy caught the dead women, laying them gently in the snow.

“It’s because you’re still strung up,” Lance said comfortingly.

Smithy had bolted off to her sister, who was already surrounded by her mother and other sister.

“I—don’t want to hurt anyone,” he stammered.

Lance nodded and set a hand on Stiles’s shoulder; warmth spread through him. “You should be fine now.” He hesitated. “Thank you for lying to Felicity,” he said very quietly. 

Stiles looked at him quickly, but he was already walking to his family.

Beyond them, the Hales had succeeded in untying most of the hostages. 

A woman let out a wail. “My baby—my daughter—I didn’t even put her in the car! It’s so cold outside! Where are all of our children?”

Talia was helping her stand. “Mr. Stilinski made sure all of the children were taken to the school, so they would be safe.”

The woman, hiccupping and swaying, nodded. “Safe.”

Lucie, limping and rubbing at her arms where the ropes had dug in, approached Stiles first. “You’re bleeding,” she observed.

He touched his cheek. “Euch,” he muttered, wiping his fingers on his shirt.

“That was nice of you,” she said, cutting her gaze to the Smith family.

He shrugged. “Everyone else saw what really happened. It made her feel better.” 

Lucie nodded and put her hands in her pockets. “Well, Jennifer Blake never existed,” she said, looking at the body. “And Julia Baccari was pronounced dead years ago. Guess we’ve got an unidentified corpse found in the woods. Probably a bear,” she said wisely.

Stiles pressed his hands to his face and started laughing helplessly.

“Derek’s over there,” Lucie said, poking his shoulder.

He spun around. 

Derek was, indeed, behind him, and he was sitting beside Scott, trying to rouse him.

Stiles went to them. “Is he okay?”

Derek nodded, resting his hand on Scott’s shoulder. “Yeah, he’s okay. Just hit his head.”

Scott huffed and settled his muzzle on Derek’s thigh. His tail thumped when he met Stiles’s gaze, though.

“Everyone,” Lucie called. “We will be gathering in City Hall so we can tend to wounds and get fed. Officers Sato, Donovan, Nolan, and myself will be heading back now to get vehicles for transportation.” 

There were agreeable murmurs all around, so she and the other officers set off.

With a heavy sigh, Stiles collapsed beside Derek and Scott, resting his head against Derek’s shoulder. It wasn’t long before the rest of the Hale pack joined them.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, tbh, the next chapter is just an epilogue 'cause I can't help myself. After this, ONTO BATTERYFIC! And other various projects I've been working myself into an excited frenzy over. :D Please enjoy and let me know how you liked it!

Stiles’s wounds were tended to personally by Odette, who slathered a thick cream on each cut, gash, and burn, and bandaged them with practiced hands.

“You’ll heal up fine,” she said, dabbing at his cheek gently.

“Why isn’t anyone using that healing spell?” he asked.

“Hmm? Oh. Takes too much energy. We’ve got all the salves and potions we need here, and we’re all worn out.” She grabbed his chin and angled his face so she could check the biggest cut. 

The adults had been ferried to City Hall—it doubled as the fire station—and from there had run to retrieve their children from the school.

The building was packed, but everyone seemed okay with the proximity, all or most of them still traumatized and clinging to their neighbors. 

The only people who were missing were the police. They had gone to retrieve the bodies—they’d discovered the bodies of the children Jennifer had murdered, too. 

Four children and six adults had died this time, and at least five children the last time, including Paige Krasikova. 

Stiles and the Hale pack kept to the edges, letting the people of River’s End share their grief. After all, they were technically outsiders. They hadn’t lost anyone—only Derek understood, and Lucie had already make sure everyone knew. Derek, who’d had nine solitary years to mourn, was content to stay with his family.

“Did you hit your head any?” Odette asked, clicking her tongue.

“No. Just thinking.” He blinked at her. “Am I done?”

“Oh, yes. You’re gonna have a little scar right here,” she thumbed his cheek, “but you’ll be fine.” 

“Thank you.”

“No, I daresay it’s us who should be thanking you. Lastly, boy,” she eyed him fiercely, “you need to work on your Sight. It’s an unusual gift, but useful.” 

“Sight?” he repeated dumbly. 

She popped him on the forehead with the heel of her hand. “Timothy Weiss can’t share visions with anyone except other clairvoyants and Seers. I know you’re not a clairvoyant.” She pressed a tiny sachet in his hand. “Keep that on you.” She stood and walked away.

Stiles leaned back in his chair, studying the sachet. It was filled with tiny crushed herbs and flowers, and smelled pleasantly soothing.

Deciding he was too tired to figure out exactly what was in it, he wiggled it into his pocket and looked over at Scott. 

He was talking to Derek and Markus, sitting back to back against Boyd. 

Boyd, for his part, was talking very seriously to Erica and Cora, who were giggling uncontrollably. 

Stiles closed his eyes to listen to the conversations around him.

Someone had started bringing in food—cold cuts and chips, things that could be eaten quickly with little preparation.

Stiles’s head tipped forward, his chin hitting his chest as he drifted off. 

 

The next day, River’s End held a joint funeral for all of the children. Witch funerals were always held entirely outside, Lucie told Stiles. They also, apparently, included a lot of magick and plants. Paige received a headstone as well, despite the fact that no one found her remains. 

Everyone was given weeping willow and cypress wound into necklaces to wear, and each grave was decorated with different plants. 

Every child who’d been killed got enchanter’s nightshade, but from there, they differed. 

Paige’s grave had everlasting, fern, syringa, and rudbeckia all wound together and handed to Derek to lay upon her headstone. 

The adults’ funerals would be handled by their families, separately. 

Stiles fiddled with the plant necklace he wore. He felt out of place. The Hales had come for Paige, and out of respect for the other children, and Stiles had mostly come for Derek, so once Derek had finished, he didn’t know what to do with himself.

“You okay?” Lucie asked. Her eyes were bloodshot; her younger sister had also been laid to rest. Her cypress and willow chain was on her head like a crown. 

“Me?” he laughed mirthlessly. “Yeah. What about you?”

She shrugged. “Just tired, now.”

Stiles looked at his feet, then back at her. “Why did Jennifer call you the Maiden?”

Lucie’s mouth twisted. “Odette is the Crone, and Jacqui is the Mother. We basically take care of the witch business here.” She shrugged. “Once Odette steps down, Jacqui will be Crone and I’ll be Mother. Rae will be the next Maiden.” 

Her explanation didn’t really clear things up as thoroughly as he’d like, but Stiles nodded anyway.

“I’m gonna be leaving,” he said awkwardly. “Going back home.”

Lucie nodded. “I figured. Have you packed yet?”

“Mostly. Just need to finish up.”

“Okay. I’ll come say goodbye, so don’t leave until I do, got it?” She managed a weak smile, which he returned. 

“Got it.”

The Hales had stayed at the house with him overnight. He’d expected it to be crowded and uncomfortable, but either everyone was too tired to be uncomfortable, or they were used to close proximity. 

It was good, too, since they all rather cheerfully helped him pack his stuff. Scott and Isaac explored the basement. Markus even cooked for everyone. They discussed travel plans over lunch.

“Everyone can run their furry asses home,” Laura said loudly. When Talia stared at her, she hastily added, “Except my mommy, who is of course the most wonderful being ever and can ride with me.” 

Talia laughed and handed a napkin to Cora, who had snorted soda through her nose.

The house was spotless by the time they were ready to leave. Derek wanted to ride with Stiles, so everyone took off ahead of them.

“Waiting on Lucie?” Derek asked, and Stiles nodded.

“She wanted to say goodbye, I guess.” He leaned back against the jeep, shivering a little. 

Derek put his arm over his shoulders and nuzzled his face, sniffing at the gash on his cheek. 

Lucie pulled up minutes later. “By the way,” she called as she got out of the car, “you left the athame in the woods. Not that it’s much use now.” She held out the cracked, blackened knife. 

“Yikes.” Stiles cringed. “Sorry. Was it…was it important?” 

“No, not a big deal. So,” she clapped her hands. “Upon scouring Odette’s grimoire collection, I have found a way to break that familiar bond for you guys.”

“Ah. Yes.” 

Hurt and offense made Stiles cringe. 

“Yeah, just…let me explain?”

“Sure. I’ll wait here.” Lucie set the knife on her car and leaned back. 

Stiles smiled hesitantly at Derek when he walked back to him. “So, you heard. It seems like a good idea.” 

He frowned. The bond felt like a throbbing ache. “Why do you want to break the bond?” he asked quietly. 

Stiles sighed. “How can we have a healthy relationship if we can read each other’s _minds_? There’s no privacy!”

“We can’t read each other’s minds—just emotions. We can speak to each other telepathically, but that’s it.” Derek crossed his arms. “Besides,” he mumbled, “because of the chemicals your body releases, I can pretty much read your emotions anyway. This bond thing just makes sure it goes both ways.”

Stiles frowned, studying him closely. He didn’t see any hesitation on Derek’s face, and he liked the bond _right now._ It was nice to have someone just… _there_ all the time. 

“Fine. So long as we learn how to break it anyway, just in case it starts to make either one of us uncomfortable.”

“Deal,” Derek said almost before Stiles finished speaking. 

Stiles snickered and rolled his eyes.

“Well?” Lucie smiled when they both approached.

“Do you mind just teaching us what needs to be done?” Stiles asked, squeezing Derek’s hand.

“Sure.” She pulled a sheet of paper out of her back pocket. 

She assured them that it was painless and simple, and taught them the ritual. 

Basically, Stiles had to burn some herbs and draw on his own and Derek’s forehead with the ashes, and do a spell. 

Once that was done, Lucie got a box out of her trunk and pressed it into Stiles’s arms. “Grimoires from the townsfolk,” she said with a grin. “Keep studying, okay?”

“I will.” He carefully put the box into the jeep, glancing in it. “Hey, you put your parents Book of Shadows in here,” he said, turning.

He wasn’t even really that surprised when he found himself being hugged tightly; he surprised _her_ by hugging back.

“Ha! I knew you knew how to hug.” She kissed his cheek and stepped back. “You can have it,” she said, nodding at the box. “You can always visit. Maybe in a few years, you might have some kids, bring them here to learn.” She wiggled her brows suggestively, making him laugh.

“Sure.” He rolled his eyes. “Tell everyone bye for me.” 

“Of course,” she said sweetly. Then she turned and grabbed Derek around the neck, hugging him. “You take care, okay?”

“Yes. Thank you.” He smiled. 

 

Derek was almost as excited during this ride as the last one; he couldn’t wait to get _home_.

While they were still well away from most traffic, Stiles let him drive for a bit. He was rusty, but caught on quickly enough, as it was just about remembering. While he was driving, Stiles’s cell began to ring, a jarring sound, as it’d been two months since he’d last heard it.

He answered without checking the caller ID, and got a blistering, “ _Where the hell have you been?”_ for his efforts. 

“Melissa?”

“I’ve been trying to get ahold of you all _day_ , Stiles Stilinski, I am so mad at you,” she snarled. 

“Uh—uh—”

She inhaled and Stiles braced for the worst. What he got was, “He’s awake.”

“My dad? Woke up?”

Derek turned to look at him, his eyes going wide. 

“Yes!” 

“I’m already on my way home, I’m coming, tell him I’m coming,” he babbled.

“Good. Keep your phone on.”

Derek switched with him at the next rest stop, so he could focus on driving instead of working himself up.

Stiles probably should have received a speeding ticket the moment he blew into Beacon Hills, but the deputy he passed only waved at him, grinning broadly. Silently, Stiles thanked Melissa’s forethought. 

When he got to the hospital, he whipped into a parking spot and jumped out of the jeep.

“Please hurry,” he moaned when Derek stopped beside the jeep. He began dancing back and forth impatiently. 

“You go. I’m actually gonna go to –my house. So you can spend time with your dad.”

“Oh.” Stiles went still. “Yeah, good idea. Thank you. When you get there, can you send Scott?” He tried to pass Derek his keys, but he only shook his head. 

“I’m fine, and yes, I will.” He kissed Stiles and turned to leave, putting his hands in his pockets. 

Stiles watched him for a split second, then bolted inside, already calling Melissa’s cell.

She caught him halfway to the elevator and dragged him in. “You’re lucky you were halfway here when I called, I was about to rage-teleport to Oregon,” she said. “I’ve been calling you since yesterday!” 

“I’m so sorry.” He pressed his hands to his face. 

“What happened to you?” she asked warily, noticing the cuts along the backs of his hands, the one on his cheek. She leaned to the side to peer at the burns peeking out from under his jacket collar.

“It’s a really long story,” he muttered. “I’ll tell you after…yeah.” 

The elevator dinged, and Stiles was the one dragging Melissa to the room his father had been in. The lights were on now.

“Hey, bud,” John rasped. 

Stiles promptly collapsed into the seat next to the bed and burst into tears.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this a day early because it's my birthday and I thought my treat to myself would be posting this to see everyone's thoughts! It's just an epilogue, but the story will officially be completely posted!! Yay! *confetti* Now onto Batteryfic!

**Epilogue; January 23rd**

“I am so not ready for this.” Stiles tried on another shirt and hated it, tossing it on the bed. “This is very stressful.”

Derek caught one of the discarded shirts and brought it to Stiles, dropping it down over his head and pulling it over his shoulders. “You’re overthinking. You’ve met most of my family. It’s dinner and cake.”

“It is _not_ ‘dinner and cake’, it’s your _mom’s birthday_. Your _pack Alpha’s_ birthday. Why are you trying to smother me?” he demanded, fighting with the shirt Derek was trying to pull down.

“This one looks fine. My mom loves Star Wars.”

“What, really?” Stiles went still for long enough that Derek could finish yanking his arms through the sleeves. 

“Yes. My dad doesn’t get it, but he still dressed up as Han Solo for Halloween a few times for her.” 

A little more relaxed, Stiles smoothed the wrinkles out of his shirt. “Well. Okay.” He sighed and said, “We better get downstairs. Dad’s probably timing me.”

The Sheriff was, indeed, timing Stiles. “You took longer than me, and I still haven’t figured out for sure if this shirt is red or green,” he said grumpily. 

While he’d woken up physically healed, John had suffered some minor brain damage. He’d improved a lot, but he still occasionally forgot the date, had balance issues that made him list slightly to the right sometimes, and, most oddly, mixed up colors. He was healing remarkably well, though, in large part due to the Hale pack’s insistence in helping.

Stiles and his father had, apparently, been adopted into the pack. 

The Hale siblings had taken to visiting and keeping the Stilinskis company, making themselves at home and helping out. 

This was their first dinner with the _whole_ pack, though, and Stiles was nervous. More so than John, who had taken things like werewolves and witches in stride, claiming to be “too old” to get worked up over it. 

“It’s green,” Derek said, “and it looks good. You both look very nice. Let’s go.”

John shot Stiles a bemused look—Derek wasn’t known for rushing anyone, especially him. Curious, they hustled out behind him.

“Ah.”

“Laura’s gonna murder you,” Stiles whispered. 

“It’s a tradition to steal Laura’s car,” Derek said confidently. “She won’t kill me. I’m saying John _really_ wanted to ride in it, you know she adores him.” Derek looked smug as he opened the passenger door for John.

“Right… You’re so dead.” Stiles kissed him. “It was nice while it lasted.” He crawled into the backseat while Derek was still looking offended.

 

At the Hale house—really there were about three Hale houses, two smaller ones flanking the largest—it seemed everyone was there, including Allison Argent, standing awkwardly beside Scott. They’d made up recently, Allison deciding Scott was still _Scott_ and that her parents could get over themselves.

Stiles was glad. Scott was much more himself when he wasn’t trying to be angry at anyone for long periods of time.

The house was crowded in a good way, with kids running around, their parents chasing them. They all called out greetings as they passed.

“Nice shirt,” Talia said, grinning on her way to the kitchen. She was wearing a birthday hat. 

“Told you,” Derek said smugly.

John left them to talk to Peter and Oliver, so they slipped away from the controlled chaos of the living area toward the stairs. 

Derek sat down on the third step, so Stiles sat next to him. “It’s going to be like this the whole time,” Derek said, turning his head as one of his many cousins ran by and tripped over her brother. 

Stiles watched them start to wrestle. “Well, it’s not so bad. Dinner and a show.”

Derek laughed and rested his head against Stiles’s shoulder. “I’m glad we’re home,” he said quietly.

Stiles put his arm around him. “Me too.”

 

Dinner was a disaster and no one left the table without food on their clothes or faces, but it was _wonderful._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who commented and left kudos! I love hearing your thoughts! I have this fixation with Something!Stiles so my plan is to write out all the ideas I've been having about Different Spn Creature!Stiles until I exhaust my imagination. :D

**Author's Note:**

> Also, Officer Lucie Castille is a character from a book I'm writing. She dies. I felt bad about it and resurrected her here. :D


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